


Barashî

by kathofalltrades



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleeping Beauty AU, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathofalltrades/pseuds/kathofalltrades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo wakes up after the Battle of the Five Armies with a sore head and nightmares that won't go away. In the royal tent, Thorin, Fíli and Kíli do not wake from their slumber, and the camp is almost out of medical supplies.</p><p>A new quest is afoot: they must find a way to wake the king and his princes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Visits from Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring hover-over Khuzdhul (that is probably impressively incorrect)!
> 
> The first thing I've written in a long time, after deciding that Bilbo always seems to recover from the battle very quickly. This has become a verrrry complex story, so fingers crossed I will get it all written!
> 
> This isn't beta-ed in any way, and I had to turn off my autocorrect because it kept changing Dwalin to Dwaine, so I apologise for any slip-ups.
> 
> My tumblr is [akathofalltrades](http://akathofalltrades.tumblr.com)

When he came to, the first thing Bilbo was aware of was the pounding in his head. He was laid in a cot, surrounded by itchy sheets, an off-white canopy swimming into view above him. How had he got here? He could barely remember anything. He’d put on his ring and gone up onto Ravenhill to help Thorin-

Thorin! It all came rushing back to Bilbo, in a sudden painful flash. Thorin, a sword wound to his stomach, laying in his arms, Bilbo desperately trying to keep him awake, whilst not collapsing himself. The thought of where Fíli and Kíli could be was sickening then, let alone now. The eagles had come soaring over the battlefield, goblins and orcs being pushed back at last. Dwalin had appeared over the parapet, yelling their names and then… blackness.

Bilbo began to struggle upright, fighting the well-tucked-in blankets and the sharp pains in his right temple. Making it to a sitting position, he pressed tentatively at his forehead, inspecting the bandages that were wrapped there. They’d obviously been done by a trained hand, rather than by someone with Dwalin’s opinion of injuries which had always been along the lines of “you’ll be fine after an ale”. Sniffing his fingers, he was pretty sure he could smell some ointment; a slightly acidic alcohol scent mixed with a faint smell of miscellaneous herbs. Was that marigolds? Surely not.

“Mister Bilbo!” A voice exclaimed from the tent entrance, making Bilbo wince, “You’re awake!”

He turned to see Bofur marching into the tent, grinning from ear to ear. Bilbo hadn’t bothered to inspect the tent before now, but now he did he noticed it was small for a dwarf, though modestly sized for a hobbit. There was no furniture bar his cot, though there was a sackcloth carpet on the floor. The cot was obviously built for a dwarf rather than a hobbit, so there was room for Bofur to make himself comfortable perched on the edge.

“We were all getting rather worried about you. Hobbit heads aren’t as tough as dwarf heads, and Óin said it was a nasty blow for either.” Bofur told him in his sing-song voice, at a much lower volume.

“I’m fine.” Bilbo waved away the question, hoping his rasping voice didn’t give away the blatant lie too much.

“And I’m queen of Mirkwood.” Bofur replied, smiling, “Here, I brought some food and drink, just in case you was up, or I got peckish on my rounds.”

A flask of water was proffered, along with a small packet which contained a lump of bread and cheese. Neither lasted long, as Bilbo gulped them down with the single-mindedness of a dwarf after a barrel ride. The water soothed his throat a good deal, though he regretted draining the flask so quickly.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, passing the empty container back to Bofur, who was rather failing to mask his concern for the hobbit.

“You’re welcome. Anything for our good Master Burglar.” Bofur grinned. “I should go and tell Óin you’re awake, really.” He continued after a pause. “But with him being a little swept off his feet at the moment, I hope you don’t mind if I wait a little longer. We’ve all been running around headless, and I’m glad of a break, if I’m honest.”

“What’s been happening?” Bilbo asked nervously, “How long was I out? Thorin-?”

“Now, now, don’t go worrying your little hobbit head, so soon awake and all. Óin with have my beard if he finds out I’ve been upsetting you. And there’d be a queue of other dwarves wanting their share of revenge too.” Bofur smiled faintly, staring at the middle distance, before sighing. “You’ve been out four days now.”

“Four days! What-?”

“Hush, Bilbo, I was getting to your other questions. Aye, it’s been four days, and I don’t think I’ve slept a decent wink in that time. Nor has any other dwarf, or man for that matter. I’m half tempted to set the forest on fire just to make sure the tree shaggers aren’t sleeping either, to be honest with you. They buggered off after the battle, with threats to come back later.” Bofur took off his hat and twirled it between his fingers. “First we had to run around setting up camp. We’re outside Erebor’s gates at the moment, seeing as most of the mountain is still strewn with rubble at this point. Thankfully Dain’s lot had the common sense to pack for this eventuality, so we had somewhere to start. Then it’s been tending to the injured, starting to clear out the mountain, and helping Balin argue about finances. Dain may be a nice enough bloke, and Bard too, but some of their advisors aren’t half pushy. Glóin has been wandering around in a fog of rage ever since he got into a fight with one of Bard’s accountants and Balin didn’t let him punch his lights out.”

Bilbo nodded, ignoring how much it hurt, that definitely seemed like Glóin. “And Thorin? Fíli? Kíli? Everyone else?”

Bofur paled slightly at that, “Alive, thank Mahal, the lot of them. Though there have been some close calls. Thorin, Fíli, Kíli… They’ve still not woken up. Óin is starting to get frantic, if I’m honest with you.” He brightened, with no small effort. “But you’re up now, so that’ll be a weight off his mind. And everyone else’s for that matter.”

“Not woken up? But will they-” Bilbo started, before being hushed by Bofur again.

“No fretting Bilbo. Please, think of my beloved beard will you? Besides, they’re Durin’s folk. It takes a lot to take one of them down, let alone convince them to stay down. They’ll be right as rain in no time. Óin worries too much.” He grinned again, though it didn’t take someone who’d known him for months to see that it wasn’t quite genuine. “Speaking of the bugger, I should go and get him. He’ll probably have some horrendous potions to feed you. Don’t tell him about my treat, will you?”

Bilbo shook his head, then put a hand out to stop the dwarf as he began to stand up, “Bofur, you weren’t hurt in the fighting, were you?”

Bofur laughed, then lifted up a leg, pulling back the trouser so Bilbo could see the bandages underneath, “A bit of a nasty scratch on my leg, as well as more bruises than I got from those trolls, but otherwise I’m fighting fit. But that’s what you get from battles, Bilbo. Don’t you worry about me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and round up a grumpy healer.”

Now that Bilbo knew, he could see Bofur favouring one leg slightly more than the other as he left the tent. He was glad of the dwarf’s visit; Bofur had always been kind and willing to part with information to anyone who would listen. And it saved him having to run around a dwarf camp in a nightshirt and bandages like a madman. Bilbo almost laughed to himself, what would all the well-to-do hobbits of the Shire think of him now?

Bag End seemed so far away from this tent on a battlefield: they could’ve been in different worlds. Not for the first time Bilbo found himself thinking of his soft, warm bed and his armchair. But even more than that he wanted his friends to be okay. The Shire could wait a little longer.

Óin bustled in, followed by Dwalin, who’d been brow-beaten into carrying his bag, and an apologetic looking Bofur. Dwalin looked equal parts annoyed and relieved at the situation, his massive frame looking very out of proportion in the crowded tent.

Óin jammed his ear horn in place, before turning to Bilbo. “How are you feeling, lad?” He asked, at a loud enough volume to make Bilbo wince again.

All the dwarves in the tent immediately picked up on the wince. Dwalin placed Óin’s clinking bag of medicines on the floor with extreme care and stepped back slightly, worry knitting his brows together. Bofur slipped out quietly, closing the tent flap behind him, but Bilbo could still see his boots outside guarding the door.

“A little sore.” Bilbo admitted, noting the bandages wound around Dwalin’s arms.

“Not surprising.” Óin muttered, more gently, putting his horn down. “Now I’m going to take a look under these bandages, if you don’t object Mister Bilbo.”

Bilbo shook his head, and sat still while the old dwarf carefully unwound the material. Only when the final layer was peeled back did he feel a twinge of pain, but he diligently bit his lip and stayed silent. Wide, dwarven fingers pressed against the wound, testing it. Grumbling to himself, Óin reached back into his pack and sorted through the bottles. Dwalin met Bilbo’s eye and shrugged sheepishly, before Óin was up again, rinsing a clean rag with a clear, foul-smelling solution. The ointment was rubbed off Bilbo’s forehead and cleaned from any errant curls, stinging slightly.

“I’m going to give you another layer of ointment and some new bandages now, Bilbo.” Óin said quietly. “The wound looks clean, and it’s healing well. My main concern is for any lingering damage to your brain. Your skull is slightly cracked, and while that’ll heal, you’ll probably have nasty reoccurring headaches for a long while.”

Bilbo dredged up his sense of humour from somewhere and retorted: “I’ve had thirteen dwarves in my dining room before. A few headaches will be nothing compared to that.”

Dwalin broke out into a huge grin, while Óin hid a smile more diplomatically, “While that may be the case, I’m recommending a lot of bed rest until this is properly healed. Understand?”

Once Bilbo had answered in the affirmative, Óin began the messy business of blending powders and herbs to make up an ointment.

“Did the last one have marigolds in it?” Bilbo asked, watching curiously, “I could’ve sworn I smelt some.”

Óin tutted under his breath, “And you’d be right, Mister Bilbo. Keen sense of smell you’ve got there. It’s one of the few medicinal plants I’ve been able to get my hands on. We’re in a pretty dire state regarding our medical supplies, I’m afraid.”

“Everybody needs ‘em and nobody’s got ‘em.” Dwalin rumbled.

“And no matter how many heads my younger brother bashes together that’s not going to change.” Óin nodded in agreement. “More’s the pity.” He added.

He sloshed some clear, strong-smelling liquid into the ointment. Bilbo’s eyes watered and he was reminded of nights spent as a much younger hobbit, drinking inadvisable amounts of homebrew and running wild across the Shire. Idly he wondered if Hamfast Gamgee was still making his father’s old recipe, or whether he’d found a way to make it even more potent.

“This will sting.” Óin warned, dipping the end of a rag into the bowl. “Stay still. The last thing you want is this in your eyes.”

Bilbo bit his lip and obliged, eyes screwed shut. As soon as the rag came into contact with his forehead, the wound lit up with a fiery pain. Bunching his hands into fists in the sheets, he forced himself to stay still.

“All done.” Óin told him, and was beginning to wrap a fresh bandage around his head when Bilbo opened his eyes, muttering under his breath about nuisance hobbit curls.

“Bofur told me that Balin wasn’t letting Glóin bash any heads together.” Bilbo directed the statement at Dwalin, who snorted.

“Balin is a diplomat, through and through. I believe his exact words were: ‘Glóin, you are not to teach that _durh'atam_ a lesson with your fists, under any conditions. He’ll be at Bomfur’s food hall at 8 o’clock toinght, and I definitely do not suggest you get him afterwards, when there’ll be just enough of an audience so not to draw too much attention but to make sure everyone finds out.’.” He shrugged, looking a little proud. “You didn’t think I was the only ruthless one in the family, did you?”

“There,” Óin declared before Bilbo had the chance to think of a response, “all done. Now, Mister Bilbo, there is to be no strenuous exercise, pulling at stitches or getting into fights. And I think you could well be the only one on camp who might pay any heed to those instructions. Goodness knows I’ve got my work cut out dealing with everyone else.”

“Can I see-?” Bilbo started, a lump rising in his throat.

Óin shook his head, guessing what was coming next, “I don’t really want you moving for another day of two. But I’ll see to it that you’re kept updated, alright?”

That was the best Bilbo was going to get, as the two dwarves took their leave of him, promising food and drink to be sent over as soon as possible. and giving him recommendations about how to contact them.

They’d barely gone when Bofur stuck his head around the tent flap, his wide grin back in place, “Well, if you aren’t allowed to go anywhere, will you be welcoming guests this afternoon Master Baggins?”

Laughing at how he’d suddenly gained a bulter, Bilbo nodded and Bofur disappeared again, his cheerful whistle carrying through the fabric of the tent as he stomped away.

* * *

Bilbo couldn’t have been awake more than two hours, but his tent had already become the unofficial place for any members of the company to hide when they wanted to shirk their duties. Bombur and Bifur had been the first to show up, guided by a carefree Bofur. Between them they brought two chairs, a table, a bowl of watery stew and a fresh bread roll. It was obviously one of Bomfur’s stews: despite it’s thinness it was hot, filling and well flavoured.

After fighting over the chairs for awhile, they all took turns telling Bilbo enthusiastically about what they’d bee doing. Bombur had (unsurprisingly) set up the most popular food hall in all of Erebor, to the extent that any visiting men from Dale were staying late especially. Bofur and Bifur, being trained miners, had been helping out with the rebuilding of Erebor.

“Some of the halls in there,” Bofur sighed to Bilbo with a dramatic gesture, as Bifur nodded his agreement furiously, “even the ones that _makalfûn_ dragon did destroy. When they said Erebor was a beauty, I didn’t think they meant this.”

“ _Birasabkhanmîn mê._ ” Bifur said to Bilbo, still nodding.

Bofur regarded his cousin, “Now, now, Master Baggins isn’t allowed to go anywhere until Óin says so. Besides, there’s no point showing him the halls before we’ve spruced them up all proper, is there?”

Bombur huffed, “Then what are you two doing here chatting? Go back to your sprucing, slackers.”

“Shouldn’t you be waiting on the masses, brother?” Bofur retorted, “Rather than imposing on a poor injured hobbit for somewhere to hide.”

“Hey!” Bilbo objected, but his cries were drowned out by the dwarves’ laughter.

Shortly after the Urs had finally seen themselves out, Dori and Ori appeared, bearing an offering of tea and books. Glad to have some quieter company, Bilbo sat and listened to their chatter over a steaming cup of Dori’s chamomile.

“I managed to barter some more herbs off the Laketown men.” Dori was telling him. “All the medicinal ones are going to Óin, obviously, but I’m going to be out of tea by midwinter otherwise.” He shook his head, taking a long draft. “I’ve been trying to find a way to make those awful painkilling potions taste nicer too. He may be a genius with healing, but he could at least sweeten those concoctions of his a little.”

Dori was swathed in more layers of clothes than normal, having broken numerous ribs during the battle (“He broke far more of the orcs though!” Ori giggled). The young scribe had his left arm in a sling and a black eye, but was still bouncing up and down in his chair when he started telling Bilbo about how Balin was promoting him. Even with only one useable arm, Ori still had the neatest handwriting for miles around. Bilbo wasn’t surprised by that: he’d seen the chicken scratch most dwarves tried to pass off as writing.

“Dain swore 84 times in the meeting today.” Ori informed him matter-of-factly. “Which is polite for him. I think he’s rather taken to Glóin.”

Dori blew into his cup, “Very sensible. Someone in charge should know that anyone who uses his fists for negotiation and is as good at sums as Glóin is, is a very good ally to have.”

Ori bobbed up and down as he nodded, “Dain is really nice actually. He doesn’t swear half as much if you talk to him when he’s on his own. He was telling me about his son in after our meeting the other day. Thorin Stonehelm he’s called, and he’s only two years older than Kíli.”

Bilbo’s chest tightened at the mention of those names, and Dori smiled at him sympathetically. “Don’t you worry, Bilbo, they’ll be fine.”

“Óin worries too much, yes I know. I’m sorry.” Bilbo shook himself. “So there’s more than one Thorin?”

Dori snorted at that, “In name, yes. I’m told they share a scowl too. But thankfully there’s only one Thorin Oakenshield, goodness knows we don’t need any more.”

“And don’t apologise for worrying,” Ori chirped, “I’m sure Thorin would be just as worried about you if your places were switched.”

If anything, that made Bilbo feel worse, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. While he supposed he’d become close to all the dwarves in the company over their journey, and the rest of them had been worried about him, it was strange to think that a king might be. Bilbo sighed inwardly, Thorin was supposed to be a king now, leading his people through all this. It was unfair that someone who had worked to hard to reclaim his homeland should be lying unconscious on his sickbed. And Fíli and Kíli were so young…

* * *

Balin showed up at the door of Bilbo’s tent in the late evening, after Bilbo had eaten and began reading one of the books he’d been gifted. The old dwarf’s nose had been broken during the battle, his lip was swollen and his right wrist was swathed in bandages.

“Good evening, Master Baggins.” He sighed, lowering himself into a chair with a sigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Not quite as fragile as everyone seems to think I am,” Bilbo insisted, “but admittedly pretty rough.”

Balin smiled at that, “Well, you can’t hate a bunch of dwarves for wanting to look after the hobbit that helped them win back their mountain, can you? Besides, I thought a nice gentlehobbit like yourself would appreciate a rest after the adventure we just went through.”

“Well, yes…”

“And we do owe you a good deal of thanks after our adventure,” Balin continued, “you were a great help indeed, Master Baggins.” He lowered his voice, “Especially when it came to helping Thorin. You did something that none of the rest of us could’ve done, and eventually it was that which saved him, and the rest of us.”

“But that was treachery!” Bilbo objected, his gut wrenching.

“Well,” Balin sat back, considering this, “if I remember correctly, and I am certain that I do, your contract never specified to whom you should present whatever treasures you burgled. Yes, that was it. It only specified that you must remove the treasures, and that any treasures removed were the property of the company as a whole. Of course, by that point you were certainly a member of the company, so I’m sure you were just looking after the Arkenstone for us, right? Do you mind if I light up a pipe?”

“Are you suggesting,” Bilbo said, trying not to feel ill, as Balin began fussing with his pipeweed, “that what I did was entirely within the realms of the contract? Even the bit where I used your greatest treasure as bartering material against the elves and the men? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in the contract.”

“I’ll agree that’s a bit tricky. Especially after your falling-out with Thorin. But I seem to remember something in your contract about how your role could only be terminated early by the entire company… Yes, you weren’t allowed to just hand over any bits of treasure until it had been properly divided. But you didn’t do that really. No, I’m sure what you actually did was take advantage of the hospitality of the weed-eaters in order to protect the Arkenstone. There was a war on, after all. You had to do all you could to keep it safe.”

Bilbo eyed him incredulously, willing his stomach to settle, “No wonder you’re the greatest diplomat the dwarves have. Can you twist everything to your point of view? And how do you remember this stuff?”

Balin laughed heartily, clutching at his side, where Bilbo was sure he’d been hurt. “Most things, yes, with a bit of thought. And I remember it because I dictated that contract to poor Ori to write, while Thorin, Glóin, Fíli, Kíli and every other dwarf under the sun disagreed with me and made additions.”

“What do Fíli and Kíli know of contracts?”

“Exactly. It was quiet a kerfuffle. In the end I had to get my brother to distract them.”

Bilbo covered his eyes, “Do I want to ask how he managed that?”

Balin shrugged, “I seem to remember it involving him ‘accidentally’ throwing an axe at one of the princes… Don’t look at me like that, Bilbo, he was never going to hit them! Either way, they ended up having a food fight, which they all appeared to enjoy and they were out of my hair for a while at least. Even if they ended up a complete mess. Which reminds me, I sent off all the clothes you were wearing in the battle to get cleaned and repaired, or replaced if they were completely destroyed. But these need returning to you.”

He reached inside his robe and drew out a small bag, passing it across to Bilbo, before also placing Sting upon the bedspread. Peeking inside the bag, Bilbo was glad to see the mithril shirt was unharmed and as beautiful as ever. Lifting out the light mail, he found his gold ring secreted at the bottom, alongside his pipe, the handkerchief Bofur had leant him, and a small pile of acorn buttons. He looked up at Balin, helplessly.

“I figured those would be the things you’d want looking after.” The dwarf explained. “The ones that mean something. The rest of your things are safe too, we just didn’t want them stored in a tent where there was no-one to keep an eye on them. I’ll get one of them young dwarves to run them across to you tomorrow, not you’ve got some furniture to put it on. They’ll bring you some proper clothes too. Can’t have our burglar running around in a nightshirt.”

“I’m not exactly running anywhere at the moment, Balin. Not without a number of dwarves chasing me down at least.”

“As it is, Master Baggins, I fear there will be a great fight as to who gets to invite you to dinner first, once you are well again.” Balin was suppressing his grin. “All behind the scenes, of course. Though if you see a couple of extra bruises that will be the reason behind them.”

“I think that would be rather difficult to tell.” Bilbo remarked. “You seem to have all gotten yourselves rather nicely beaten up.”

Balin sighed, “Such is the nature of battlefields, my good hobbit. At least up on Ravenhill you were all out of the way of the melee. We’re all rather glad of that fact. Goodness knows a hobbit on a battlefield would be horrendous: there’s not much sneaking needed, when it gets down to it all.”

“Well, I’m glad to have helped in any way I could.” Bilbo replied in a hollow voice, not going to tell the old dwarf that being in Dale had probably been worse than being on the battlefield. There had been too many tight corners, too many dead ends, too many screams-

“You did everything we ever asked of you, Master Baggins.” Balin looked at him earnestly. “And a good deal more.”

* * *

It was dark around Bilbo. The choking black darkness of the goblin caves, rank with rot and death. Stumbling forwards, he caught sight of a white shape in the darkness, scurrying along and hissing under it’s breath. With no other option, Bilbo stumbled forwards to follow it, groping along the rough walls and desperately trying to keep his purchase on the wet floor. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived the game of riddles in the dark, mismatched teeth gnashing at his throat, but he had to get out of these tunnels.

Slipping and sliding over the reeking fungi, Bilbo did his best to follow Gollum, whose hushed ramblings echoed through the tunnels all around him until it felt like it was coming from the walls themselves.

“Preciousss, preciousss. He stole the precious, he stoles it.” It was louder now, and Bilbo stood on the spot, spinning as he tried to place the sound. “Nasty, nasty hobbitses. We should kill them, kill the hobbitses.” The voice turned singsong, so loud in Bilbo’s ears now that Gollum should be on top him. “Smash his head upon a rock, hold his face down in the lake, break his bones and crush his toes, leave him to die where nobody knowssss.”

Bilbo yelped, feeling a slight movement against his neck, and set off down the corridor at a sprint, not even daring to look back. No longer caring for being quiet, he hammered down the corridor, feet skidding away from him but somehow staying upright. Not even bothering to slow down, he dashed around the corner, almost toppling, and kept running.

There was no discernible sound behind him, not that he’d be able to hear anything with his breath rattling in his ears. Slowing down slightly, he rounded another corner and found himself at a dead end. Above him, a chasm stretched up and up, blackness ending in a small pinprick of light. Shouts echoed down the shaft to him, too far away to hear what they said, but close enough to recognise the urgency.

The Company - they were in trouble. They were still up in the goblin tunnels, swords drawn and metal clashing. Bilbo set off again, back the way he came, ignoring the breath that now burnt in his throat. Not even caring about meeting Gollum again, he careered through the tunnels, twisting this way and that, desperately hoping for some sort of landmark. Wishing for the umpteenth time that he had the sense of direction the dwarves seemed to possess underground, he came to a sudden stop, leaning over to catch his breath.

The tunnel stretched away from him, in front and behind, black upon black. Bilbo took a ragged breath and leant over. He had to keep going, he couldn’t stay here, in these cursed tunnels. Carefully he drew Sting, disappointed when the blade stayed steel, rather than providing it’s magical blue glow. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, sweat mingling with fresh tears, he took another gulp of air and set off running again.

The end of the corridor wasn’t getting any closer, the floor contorting beneath Bilbo as he ran, and yet he kept going. He lost count of the number of times he went sprawling forwards, in his desperate gallop. Bruised and blackened, he just pushed himself off, wiped his forehead, and set off again. And again. And again. No matter how many dead ends he found, how many corners he turned and low ceilings he scrambled under, he bit back the tears and kept going.

Finally there was a light, and Bilbo bolted towards it, already drawing Sting. He came out onto the slopes of the mountain, blinking in the sudden light. It was nearing dawn, the sun peeking above the horizon. But in front of that, coming from a group of tall trees on the precipice of a cliff, was several plumes of dull woodsmoke.

Tiptoeing towards the trees, Bilbo’s heart caught in his mouth. The dwarves he knew so well were huddled together, leaning on each other for support, eyes downcast.

“Bilbo.” Gandalf looked up, his deep voice surprised.

“Bilbo,” Dori repeated, turning around, “you’re too late. I’m sorry.”

He stepped aside to reveal Thorin’s broken form on the ground, bleeding from the a stomach wound identical to the one he obtained in the battle, Fíli and Kíli pale and lifeless next to him. Their bodies were surrounded by pinecones, burning softly.

“I’m so sorry.”

But this couldn’t be right, they hadn’t died here, not now. They were still alive. They were… Bilbo’s mind reeled, panic flicking through him. _No. Thorin. Don’t die. Don’t._

The pinecones flared and a war cry came from behind Bilbo. Before he could turn, a blunt object smashed into his skull, making his vision flicker. He fell to the ground, helpless to do anything as the orc pack smashed into the grieving company, blood spilling onto the ground. The white orc howled, raising his mutilated arms in victory-

Bilbo woke, in a breathless cold sweat, his head pounding. The cloth ceiling above him was still dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdhul used:  
> Barashî - elements of the wound  
> durh’atam - troll breath  
> makalfûn - cursed  
> Birasabkhanmîn mê - show you  
> Thank you to the Dwarrow Scholar!
> 
> And yes, marigolds were used in medieval medicine for wounds, [honest](http://www.quantal.demon.co.uk/saga/ooc/herbs.html).


	2. Sleeping Beauties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Chapter 2 is up, spurred on by all the wonderful feedback (thank you guys!). Don't expect all the other chapters to be posted this quickly though.
> 
> Again it's not beta-ed, so I apologise for any mistakes I've missed.
> 
> My tumblr is [akathofalltrades](http://akathofalltrades.tumblr.com).

By the time Óin arrived at Bilbo’s tent, not long after sunrise, Bilbo had worked himself up to quite a state. He’d gasped incoherently in the pillow until he was hoarse, but those three lifeless bodies were still tattooed onto his eyelids. Tear stained and exhausted, he’d counted sheep until he ran out of numbers and waited for dawn.

“You don’t look well, Mister Baggins.” Óin commented, not unkindly, dropping his bag and ear trumpet on the table. “If it weren’t for me being run off my feet, I imagine I wouldn’t be sleeping well either.”

“I’ll be fine.” Bilbo shook his head, glad that the motion no longer made him feel sea-sick. “I’ve just not had time to think about it.”

“You know best, Master Burglar. But if you need a sleeping potion at any point I’ll make one up for you, no problem. Anyway, I thought I’d take breakfast in here this morning, what with it being far more peaceful than the mess halls, and you wanting feeding anyway.”

Glad of the speedy change of subject, Bilbo smiled weakly at the healer, “That would be much appreciated. Where are all the others today?”

Óin shrugged, “Mostly snoring still. Though Bombur’s up and serving food, Balin and Ori are already doing council stuff, and Dwalin is taking a guard shift he thinks I don’t know about.” He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s just shouting at a brick wall, telling dwarves not to exert themselves. But it does have it’s advantages. I for one am glad to not have to go without Bombur’s cooking.”

He’d brought across a selection of cheeses, cooked fish and fresh baked bread, with a couple of warm scones secreted in the bottom of the basket, which they spread out between them. “As far as I can tell, fish is the only thing we’re not likely to run out of.” Óin said through a mouthful. “Not something dwarves would normally eat, but Bombur’s doing his best to convince everyone it won’t poison them.”

“I think it’s delicious.” Bilbo said, licking his fingers and diving back in for another helping. Though he was still a gentlehobbit at heart, he’d had little option but to pick up the dwarfish habit of eating with his fingers on the journey.

“There was quite the fight the other day you know. We got in a delivery of herbs from Laketown, just anything they’d managed to save or pick up, you know. Most of it goes to the healers so we could make up potions for everyone. I’ve been sending off nearly half of what we make to the men, as they don’t seem to have as much experience with orc wounds as we do. But there were a few bits left over that I didn’t need, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dori and Bombur at each other’s throats like that. It was quite the scene, before Dwalin broke them up.”

Bilbo considered this, “I’m not sure which is the greater cause, making tea or adding flavour to food.”

“Nor is anyone else. Bombur’s cooking is getting legendary, but Dori is doing a fine job of making my health potions palatable, which isn’t something I’m necessarily concerned with. Plus, if it came to blows, everyone knows Dori would win.”

They’d barely finished eating when Dori himself turned up, towing along a slightly sheepish looking young dwarf. “Morning Óin,” he said, as the other dwarf bustled out of the door, “how goes it?”

“Probably as busy as ever, if everyone keeps on getting in this many fights behind my back.”

“Well that’s what happens when you have this many dwarrows in one place, with no dwarrowdams to keep them in their place. Good morning Bilbo, I’ve brought you some clothes.”

“Morning Dori,” Bilbo smiled, as Óin raised his hand in farewell and ducked out, “that’s mighty kind of you.”

“Well, an ancient tunic as a nightshirt is barely befitting of one of the Company. And I am a weaver by trade, after all.”

Bilbo often found himself forgetting that all the Company had been regular dwarves before the quest. Even Thorin had told him of working as a blacksmith after they’d fled the mountain, in a voice somewhere between anger and melancholy. Dori’s craftsmanship certainly showed through in the garments he produced. There was a leather vest, styled to be closer to Bilbo’s waistcoats than the dwarfish surcoats: it was shorter and more well fitted. It had simple embroidery across it, the dark stitches forming images of flowers and acorns across the back and running alongside the hems. Two pairs of plain trousers, cut to the preferred hobbit length and a few loose white shirts accompanied it.

“I know you like your tailored shirts, with them collars and things, but I didn’t have time to do any starching, and I doubt I’d get it right anyway.”

“They’re excellent, Dori, thank you very much.” Bilbo fingered the surcoat, studying the patterns reverently.

The weaver swelled slightly with pride, “I haven’t had time to finish a coat for you yet, but I figured you won’t need it if you’re not travelling very far for another couple of days. And thankfully you don’t need any boots, unlike every other dwarf in this camp. It was quite nice for us to do something other than fixing shoes.”

“I’m guessing there aren’t many weavers and tanners around then?”

“Nope, hence why we’re running around doing the mundane jobs we’re not all exactly trained for. With far too few supplies to do it with. At least Óin has an interesting time of it.” Dori sorted through the packages. “I made you some warm undershirts too, you’ll need them with the harshness of the winters up here.”

“Dori, thank you, you really didn’t need to-“

“Now, now, Bilbo. We all saw your expression in Laketown when they gave you children’s clothes. It’s the least we could do really.” Dori smiled, obviously amused by the memory. “Tea?”

Dori bustled around, arranging his tea set on the table while Bilbo began to change. The clothes were of a much nicer material than his scratchy sheets, though still plain. Pulling an undershirt over his bandages, Bilbo was surprised at how little his head was hurting now, after a good breakfast and with the promise of tea.

Pulling a packet of biscuits from where it was secreted inside his jacket, Dori laid them out carefully before turning to regard Bilbo. “Not bad, not bad. Of course, we’ll see to it that you get some nicer ones when we have the materials, but that’s certainly serviceable. Hang on, I have a mirror in here somewhere.”

After rooting through his things again for a moment, an ancient hand-mirror was proffered. Bilbo was surprised at his appearance. For want of a better word he looked… dwarven. The simple layers of clothing were practical and nowhere near the frippery hobbits enjoyed, the earthy colours a contrast to the bright ones of the Shire. But they were certainly fine clothes, probably better suited to him now than his old clothes would have been. His hair was long, longer than he’d realised. The bandages were keeping it out of the way at the moment, but sooner or later he’d be unable to see through a mass of honey-coloured curls. He was certainly thinner and leaner than when he’d set out, and his tan had only deepened with the travelling.

“They’re great,” Bilbo caught himself, “thanks Dori.”

“My pleasure. Now, the tea is brewed, and I would certainly like to put my feet up for a while before the guilds meeting.”

Bilbo snagged a biscuit and settled into the free chair, “Is it important?”

“Well, we’re trying to establish a working system in the mountain. Balance the labour and all that. We all know it will end up as a bickering match between the miners and the smiths though.” Dori shook his head. “The two proudest trades certainly live up to their name.”

Deciding he probably didn’t want to hear about the intricacies of dwarven politics, Bilbo changed the subject. “Dori, where’s Nori? I think I’ve seen every other member of the company apart from him and-” He broke off, regretting that he’d even started to think about Thorin and his nephews.

“Well,” if Dori noticed Bilbo’s discomfort he pretended not to see, “there’s a thing. My middle brother has always been an awful troublemaker, but Balin has managed to put his nonsense to good use. Him and some of his friends have been acting as the eyes and ears of the camp. Keeping an eye on any orc stragglers, spying on the dwarves coming in and out of camp, as well as checking on the elves and the men. It’s quite funny actually, Dwalin can’t decide whether he approves or not, and his eyebrows do this weird dance every time it’s brought up.”

Before Bilbo could reply, Bofur’s voice sounded from outside the tent: “Knock knock!” He stuck his head around the tent flap. “Morning Dori, mind if I come in? Ooh, biscuits.”

He left no time for either of them to object, placing himself on the bed and helping himself. “How come you got these?” He asked, spraying crumbs. “Bombur’s my brother and he doesn’t share with me.”

“I told him they were for Bilbo. And gave him some of the herbs I’d bartered for tea.”

“And threatened to punch his lights out, I don’t doubt.” Bofur laughed, shaking his head. “What’s the topic of conversation for tea time today then lads? Nice outfit, by the way, Bilbo.”

“I was telling Bilbo what Nori’s been up to. Apparently he’s the only one to to have visited yet. And I’m glad you like it, we put quite a lot of thought into what would be appropriate.”

“Actually, Dori, can I ask you about that. Why do you need to spy on other dwarves?” Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “Men, elves and certainly orcs I can understand, but…”

“That’s a question, Mister Bilbo.” Bofur laughed. “If only it were that simple.”

“Balin’s a little concerned about all these unknown dwarves running around camp. Especially the dwarves from the southern tribes with no loyalty to us or Dain.”

“Don’t want anyone seizing power while the royal family’s napping, eh?” Bofur waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially at Bilbo. “Speaking of which, Óin asked me to update you. He says they’re all doing fine, no fevers or anything, and their injuries are coming along marvellously. Still asleep, but I think that’s a blessing where Fíli and Kíli are concerned. They’d have torn their stitches a dozen times by now if they’d been awake.”

Bilbo nodded, his throat too tight to speak. They were going to be okay. No-one was going to die. His dream was only a dream. His head flared up at the thought, and he took a gulp of tea to calm himself.

“Well that’s a blessing.” Dori put his teacup down and stretched. “Anyway, I ought to be getting a shift on. If it’s all right with you Bilbo, I’ll leave my tea set here. It’s rather a lot to cart around, and you’re more than welcome to make use of it.”

“I oughtn’t dally either, if you’re not averse to me leaving.” Bofur nodded to Bilbo. “As unofficial message deliver-er, my mining skills being in high demand, and my sparkling personality, I’m sure I’ll be missed.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your duties.” Bilbo flapped his hand at the two of them. “As it is I’m getting far more attention that I deserve. Thank you again for the clothes, Dori.”

Having waved them off, Bilbo settled down for the rest of the morning with one of the books Ori had leant him. Nibbling on biscuits, Bilbo made his way through two pots of tea and half the book by the time lunchtime came around. It was an interesting volume, about the history of the men of Dale and their relationship with Erebor. The most surprising part was the sheer amount of details about the dwarves the book contained: they were a secretive race, and Bilbo couldn’t imagine any of the setting their secrets down in ink. Though, on the other hand, he considered, they had no problem setting it down in stone.

It was almost funny to Bilbo now: before the quest he’d had this rather ridiculous notion that dwarves were a cookie-cutter warrior race, all of one industrious mind. Now, he’d found them to be even more varied than almost anyone else he knew, what with their warriors, scribes, archers, thieves and tea connoisseurs all banding together. Yes, their quest had been born from a special type of insane desperation, but they’d succeeded, and it had taken every one of them.

He reached the section of the book on the Arkenstone, and suddenly his heart was throbbing in his mouth. Trying not to be ill, he closed the book again, feeling the throbbing building up in his head. It was as though the gap had opened up below him again, teetering over the precipice Thorin had threatened to throw him off.

No. No that hadn’t been Thorin. The real Thorin had been buried then, somewhere in amongst Smaug’s cursed piles of gold. The real Thorin had begged for Bilbo’s forgiveness, lying in his arms atop Ravenhill, despite the gaping wound in his stomach. And Bilbo had shushed him, blinking back tears, and told him to just stay still while help came.

He’d assumed they’d have time later. For Bilbo to tell Thorin off for his reckless selfishness, to peel back layer upon layer of confused emotion the dragon sickness had stirred up and then move on. But what if Thorin didn’t wake up? What if-

Bombur was the one who brought Bilbo lunch, ducking into the tent with apologies about being slightly late. Bilbo had told him to be quiet, the food and company much too welcome for him to worry about the timings.

“That’s a fine jacket you’ve got there.” the dwarf commented, his voice much softer than his brash brother's.

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled, swallowing his mouthful of soup, “Dori made it for me. It’s certainly an improvement on the nightshirt.”

“That it is.” Bombur laughed. “Here, do you think he’d make me one? He could put puddings on the back. My berry cobbler is legendary, after all.”

This set Bilbo giggling, “And cuts of meat? Ladles around the hem?”

“That ain’t a bad idea, he could make specially shaped pockets for all my things.”

“You’d rattle as you walked.”

“Ah, no more than any other dwarf. You saw how many knives Fíli managed to stuff into his packing for the quest.” He caught Bilbo’s downcast expression. “Still fretting? Well, I’m sure Óin knows what he’s doing. Just enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts. Goodness knows they’ll all be clamouring in here as soon as they wake up, worrying about your head as loud as they can.”

“I know, I just can’t help it. I just keep thinking about what it would be like if they died. About never being able to talk to them again.” Bilbo’s throat caught, and he went pointedly back to his soup.

“Well, we’ll see about putting you right near the top of the list in terms of telling off the Durins. Other than Balin and Dís, I think you get dibs.”

It was at that point that Dwalin stuck his head around the tent door, looking slightly sheepish. “Sorry, am I interrupting? I was told I could find Bombur here.”

“Not at all.” Bilbo tried to smile welcomingly, signalling for the large dwarf to enter.

“What can I do for you then, Dwalin?”

Dwalin studied the ceiling with great interest for a second before asking, “What’s the price for you to tell my brother and Óin that I was in your kitchen for lunchtime today, and not out with the hunting parties?”

Bombur smirked through his moustache, “Giving you a tough time of it are they? You should really listen to healers, you know.”

“I know that.” Dwalin rumbled, wringing his hands. “But I can’t sit around all day doing nothing. And I wasn’t injured that badly. I’m well enough to stand around at the gates to camp and to ride a pony to Mirkwood and back.”

“Your left arm was cut almost down to the bone.”

“It’s not like I’m wielding a two handed weapon or anything! I’ve borrowed a sword off Dain. And I let the archers do most of the hunting.”

“How many did you bring in?”

“Two boar, a brace of pheasants and a brace of rabbits. There’s not a lot around.” Dwalin looked at him imploringly.

“See to it that I get the best of what you’ve got, and every other hunt you run off on, and I’ll cover you as much as you like.” Bombur looked satisfied. “Can’t promise it will work though.”

“Deal. And I’m off to see if I can bribe Nori next, so I might stand a chance.”

“Good luck with that. Even if you can find him, he’s not a difficult dwarf to bribe.”

“I’ll think of something.” Dwalin grinned, and Bilbo was certain he saw mischief in the warrior’s old eyes. “Sorry to interrupt your luncheon, Mister Baggins. I’ll probably see you later, once Óin catches me again.”

* * *

Dwalin’s prediction proved right, he and Óin reappeared shortly before dinner, the warrior once again carrying the healer’s bag. Both looked far more tired than when Bilbo had seen them earlier in the day.

“Long day?” He asked Óin as the healer unwound his bandages once more.

“It always is.”

When the healer didn’t seem to be in the mood for chatting, Bilbo turned his attention to Dwalin. “Did you get to talk to Nori at all?”

“Oh, yes. We talked.”

Bilbo sighed internally about the strange habits of dwarves: obviously tonight they were all feeling the need to be short and enigmatic. He sat quietly while Óin inspected the wound again, the ointment wiped away by the clear alcohol once more.

“It actually looks very good, Bilbo. You’ve not had any pains in it?”

“It’s throbbed a couple of times.” The hobbit admitted. “But I’m not wincing at every noise any more, and I’ve had no trouble sat reading.”

Óin nodded, “Well, so long as we keep the bandages on it then you’ll recover fine. I’ll no longer be confining you to this tent, though I recommend you don’t wander too long or too far.”

“Does that mean I can see Thorin and Fíli and Kíli soon?” Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was excited or terrified at the prospect.

“Yes, I think we can arrange that. After you’ve eaten, perhaps? I imagine there will be some food delivered some time soon. I’ll come and find you in an hour or so. Don’t want you wandering in and worrying the other healers, not with that bandage.” Óin said it almost to himself, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, then turned back to Bilbo. “Is that acceptable?”

“What? Oh, yes. Thank you. Really.” Bilbo stuttered, suddenly not quite so sure.

Bilbo was unable to stay still by the time he’d finished eating, full of trepidation. Bofur looked concerned, but elected to say nothing, instead launching into a dramatic speech about the chambers they were uncovering. Of his family, he was the one blessed with public speaking, compared to his brother with his softer voice and his cousin. Bilbo was very grateful for the distraction, though he was struggling to focus on what he was saying.

When the tent door twitched, Bilbo was up on his feet before his brain could catch on, but it wasn’t the healer. Instead Dori walked in, looking slightly smug, with Ori bobbing along behind him.

“Dori, hello.” Bilbo said, trying to cover up his blunder.

“Bilbo,” the dwarf smiled widely, “I’ve brought along the final part of your present.”

He pulled the parcel from under his arm and placed it reverently on the bed. Ori shifted closer into the room to get a better view, eyes flicking between Bilbo and the paper package. Deciding against any further questions, Bilbo inched over to the package and carefully untied the string and folded the paper back. What was inside took his breath away.

It was a coat, though the word didn’t seem to do it justice. It was dark green in colour, obviously made out of fine fabric that simultaneously had been chosen to be hardwearing. There was intricate stitching down the lapels, gold buttons down the front and a layer of fur around the collar. Bilbo’s breath caught: just like Thorin’s.

Bofur let out a low whistle, “Well, ain’t that a fine thing.”

“I didn’t want it too fussy,” Dori began, as Bilbo lifted it up to examine it further, “as I figured it’d be better for you to have something warm than something pretty. We don’t know how long it’ll be until we all move in properly after all. But we found the fabric and it just seemed right, and should still be practical. Hobbits don’t do half as much heavy lifting as the rest of us, after all.”

“It’s lovely, Dori.” Bilbo said, finding his voice. “Truly. Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure, Bilbo. I figured there was no point in having a one-fourteenth share of the gold if you didn’t have nice pockets to put it in.”

“Here, does that mean I get one too?” Bofur asked. “Because I wouldn’t object in the slightest.”

“I’m first!” Ori insisted from behind him. “I’m his brother!”

Dori grinned, “I’ll start making a list. But I won’t be making you any clothes until your arm is out of that sling, Ori. Come on Bilbo, let me help you with that.”

The dwarf took the coat gently from him, then moved to stand behind him. Bilbo slid his arms into the sleeves and Dori toyed with the collar as he shook it into place. It reached down to just below his knees, as heavy as his thickest winter coat, but not stifling. The cuffs were decorated similarly to the lapels, embroidery weaving around in a pattern of dwarfish knot-work. Bilbo turned to look at Dori, the fur collar tickling his neck as he did so and he absently wondered how Thorin put up with it, before immediately regretting the thought.

“Pretty good, if I do say so myself.” Dori leant forwards and did up the buttons for him, before moving around and inspecting the slit at the back.

“Oh! Oh! I have some wool that would compliment that perfectly!” Ori declared. “I’ll knit you a scarf as soon as I can. Maybe some gloves too…”

Before Bilbo could stammer some more thanks, or Dori could instruct his brother on knitted items, the tent door opened again. The sight of Óin sobered Bilbo up very quickly, as the dwarf surveyed the tent.

“Are you ready, Bilbo? I’m guessing from the fact you’ve already got your coat on it’s a yes. That’s a very nice one, by the way Dori.” He said conversationally, filling in the gaps while Bilbo floundered.

“Hey! There’s a queue if you want one, I’ll have you know.” Bofur interjected, putting his hat back on and standing up. “Come on Bilbo, let’s go before someone else tries to overtake my position.”

Bilbo fretted with the cuffs of his new coat while the dwarves filed out, Ori looking at him imploringly from the doorway until he followed them. He wasn’t even sure why he was so worried. It wasn’t as if they were going to leap up when he walked in and shout at him about the Arkenstone.

Stepping outside, he was amazed by how large the camp was. They were just outside Erebor’s front gates, a wide path running from the entrance with dwarves hurrying back and forth. Tents stretched away down the slight slope of the mountain towards where Dale stood. Carts were moving slowly between the two, even in the dying light.

“It’s big, isn’t it?” Ori smiled next to him, seeing the look in his eyes. “There’s been people arriving to help in a pretty constant stream. There are men starting to move into Dale from other places as well.”

Óin and Dori lead the way to the royal tent, only a short way from Bilbo’s. Bofur was wandering along just behind them, completely at ease, greeting every other dwarf that walked past. A few of these dwarves spared a glance at Bilbo and Ori, but were either too busy or already recognised them to pay them much heed.

The royal tent was large, with a banner bearing the insignia of Durin’s line hanging outside the doorway. Óin pulled the entrance back slightly, motioning for them to all duck in, leaving as little room as possible for passers-by to see inside. Everyone looked at Bilbo, and he was guided through the doorway first.

It was dark inside the tent, lit by one or two candles, with three cots spaced equally across the room. A healer sat in the corner, folding bandages as they kept watch on the slumbering dwarves.

Bilbo found himself frozen in the doorway, breathing in the scene, before Bofur gently prodded him aside so he could squeeze through the door. It was almost eerie, the combination of the low lighting and quiet breathing. Fíli, Kíli and Thorin were asleep, there was no doubt about that. Their chests rose and fell rhythmically, and their bodies looked relaxed and peaceful. But they were too still. Too pale.

Swallowing hard, Bilbo turned to Óin, who was ducking in last, “And they’ve been like this since the battle?”

The healer nodded, “At first we thought it was just their injuries. But we’ve treated them all, and though they all lost a fair bit of blood they should’ve stirred by now. We’ve tried most things we can think of, but it’s not working. All we can do is keep giving them food and water and hope they come out of it.”

Bilbo listened to this with half an ear, his gaze too busy studying the sleeping figures. He could see the bandages wrapped around Thorin’s midriff, where the blade had pierced him. Kíli’s left arm was completely swathed in wrappings, as was Fíli’s head and right leg.

“So you’ve no idea?” Bilbo asked again, managing to take a step forwards into the tent.

“None.”

Finding himself next to Fíli’s bed, Bilbo leant against the frame of the cot, his hand skating over the dwarf’s forehead, checking for fever. Fíli felt no warmer than he did, breathing steady and heartbeat calm.

“Though,” Óin started, sounding unsure, “their wounds are healing a little slower than normal. It could just be the lack of medicine, I mean, they’re not the only ones coming along slower than I’d like.”

Bilbo looked up. In the next bed along, Thorin looked like an ancient king of old, his face regal and tranquil. It was almost as if he were a living statue, his chest moving gently up and down in the flickering candlelight. It looked like all of his burdens had fallen from him, the lines on his face washed away for the first time since Bag End. Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he was glad of that or not. He may look peaceful now, but it was nothing compared to when a smile touched the dwarf’s eyes, regardless of the troubles he faced.

The unnatural stillness was beginning to get to Bilbo. The princes had never stayed still or quiet this long, not even when they’d been hiding in barrels, or sitting in elvish prisons. No, he didn’t like it at all.

“So what you’re saying,” Bilbo began, a feeling of Tookish-ness washing over him for the first time since the battle, “is that we need to get more medicine.”

“Definitely.”

“And we should use any means necessary.” Bilbo continued. 

“You know, Bilbo.” Bofur said, after a pause. “If I didn’t know you better I’d suspect you of plotting something. And whatever it is, I'm in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdhul used:  
> Barashî - elements of the wound
> 
> Basically I really liked the idea of all the dwarves spoiling Bilbo while he recovered. And Bilbo wearing dwarf-hobbit fusion clothes.
> 
> Also I didn't actually intend for Dwalin/Nori to happen, I just decided part way through writing this that it fitted really well. They will be mostly in the background, but I will try and get them some development.


	3. A Job for a Burglar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter this time, but I got to the point where I wanted to stop and still managed to throw in two more characters. As before, it's not beta-ed, so I apologise for any mistakes/sloppy writing.
> 
> My tumblr is [akathofalltrades](http://akathofalltrades.tumblr.com), feel free to be my friend.

That night, Bilbo had more nightmares. Running down corridors that stretched further and further out. This time he was in Erebor, the tall dwarven columns and gentle clink of treasure in the distance tell tale signs. He was looking for Thorin, he knew that much. The sense of urgency rose as he ran, there was something he needed to tell the dwarf king, and he had to tell him right now.

In a sudden rush of golden light, the treasury was upon him. It stretched out in front of him, unnecessarily large and grandiose, huge vaulted ceilings and marble. Mountains of gold littered the room, statues left to collapse sideways onto great heaps of gems. Bilbo aimed for the largest pile, a twist in his stomach as he remembered how Thorin liked to stand up high so he might survey it all.

The gems shifted under his feet as he stumbled up the reams of treasure, desperately grappling for purchase on all fours. He neared the plateau at the top, the light around him dimming quickly. Poking his head over the edge, he was met by a sight that was sickeningly familiar. The three heirs of Durin lay half-buried in coins, sleeping faces pale and uncannily still. Before the hobbit could call to them, the pile of gold opened up and swallowed them whole, the whole treasury collapsing around them. Bilbo sank deeper and deeper into the piles of coins, his breath being squeezed from him as he desperately fought towards where the dwarves had been. The gold closed over the top of his head and it all went dark, and Bilbo couldn’t breathe anymore.

“ _Too late again._ ” a voice hissed as Bilbo awoke with a horrified cry, fresh tears in his eyes.

* * *

Bilbo walked to the meeting that morning with renewed purpose, rolling his speech around his head and trying to get his hands to stop shaking. They’d decided to meet in Balin’s tent, which he’d been shown the route to the previous night by a diligent Ori. Balin had the largest collection of places to sit, a well sized desk, and was most qualified to break up any fights over chairs.

He was quite surprised to see that he was the last one there, though he’d purposely planned ahead such that he’d be there 10 minutes early. What Bilbo didn’t realised, of course, was that Balin and Dori had ear-bashed the others such that they’d arrive 20 minutes early, so that Bilbo wouldn’t be sat around fretting.

“Morning, laddie.” Balin smiled as the hobbit pushed his way through the tent flap. “How are you doing?”

“Well, thank you.” Bilbo replied, looking around at the gathered crowd nervously.

“Tea?” Dori asked, proffering a cup.

“Please.” Bilbo managed, accepting the drink and edging around the other dwarves to the final free chair.

They were all looking at him expectantly as he surveyed their faces. The annoying corner of his brain said ‘ _I wonder if this is what Thorin feels like all the time._ ’ which he desperately shushed, taking a nervous sip of tea. Even Nori was there, and it took the keen eye of someone from the company to see that he was exhausted, obviously spying on all of Erebor’s enemies at once was taxing.

“So,” Bofur began slowly, “what’s the plan going to be?”

Bilbo wetted his lips with his tongue, “Actually, I have a question first, before we do anything.” He looked at Balin. “How are the relations with the elves at the moment?”

Unpleasant mutters broke out around the tent, with much under-the-breath swearing in Khuzdhul. The dwarves shifted, some looking practically ready to leap up and charge into the forest.

Balin held up his hand, sighing into his beard. “As awful as ever. They’ve let us get stuck in some arbitrary paperwork cycle, meaning we won’t be getting any help from them soon.”

“Arrogant tree-shaggers.” Dwalin declared, to general agreement and rattling of weapons.

“Dwalin.” His brother chided, before turning back to the hobbit. “Why do you ask, Bilbo?”

“Oh, I just didn’t want to ruin any attempts at diplomacy, is all.”

Nori snorted, “What did the weed eaters do to get your goat, Bilbo? I thought you were amenable to their kind.”

Bilbo bit his lip and looked at the floor. The truth was, from the peak of Ravenhill there was a great view of the battlefield, and he’d been sickened by the sight. War, it seemed, was in direct contrast of everything a hobbit was, so the elven king hadn’t been in his good books when he turned up with a large army. But when he’d withdrawn his forces from Dale, where there were women and children still sheltering, orcs still charging across the battlefield towards the city, Bilbo had lost almost all of his respect for the elf.

Regretting even bothering with the conversation, Bilbo rubbed his now throbbing head and took another gulp of his drink. Thank goodness for Dori’s tea. Politically, he imagined it would all be smoothed over eventually. Bilbo could even see the elf’s point: if he’d had the chance to withdraw himself he certainly would have done so.

Collecting himself, he smiled at Nori, finding comfort and his sense of humour in the crowd of dwarves. “Ah, well, you see. He didn’t share his wine with me. Or anyone other than Bard actually. Quite bad manners. My Grandma Took would’ve given him a right hiding.”

Before anyone could look concerned about the pause Bilbo had left, Glóin bust out in hoots of laughter, soon joined by Bofur’s cackle and Ori’s shy giggle.

“Now that,” the redheaded dwarf gasped, “I would like to see.”

Balin seemed content to wait patiently for the sniggers to die down, but Óin obviously had better things to be doing. “Go on Bilbo. Your plan.”

“Well,” the throbbing in his head was beginning to lull already, which was reassuring, “it just came to me seeing as you all keep insisting on calling me your burglar.”

“But you are!”

“I know, Ori. So, seeing as you’re all plying your trades, why shouldn’t I ply mine?”

The gathered dwarves took a moment to process this. Or rather, everyone but Nori did, who was already grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you suggesting we steal from the elves?”

“Oh yes.” Nori rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. I knew we hired you for a reason, Mister Baggins.”

“This is all well and good.” Balin took control of the gathered dwarves once more, with a practised hand. “But I worry that sneaking around Thranduil’s palace will be more difficult second time around.”

Bilbo sat up straight, depositing his cup onto the floor next to him. “We take a small strike team. I’ll need a list of essential supplies from Óin. We’re not going to take all of their medicine, just as much as is fair. I’d suggest that we travel on foot, as getting ponies into the forest will only draw attention to us. There’s still enough elves going to and fro that we should just be able to follow one of them straight to the palace.”

“I’m in.” Said Nori, through the surprised silence. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“I’ll go too.” Dwalin volunteered immediately, but his brother shushed him.

“No, just the two of you would be best. We don’t want to draw attention to this, not from the elves, the men or any of the other dwarves. There are too many dwarves of unknown allegiance who might try their luck with Thorin’s right hand warrior out of the picture.” He looked at Bilbo. “We’ll get you what you need. You’ve always been the lucky fourteenth member, Bilbo, and I get the sneaking feeling that you’ll pull this one off.”

* * *

Preparations were made in record time: by mid-afternoon Bilbo and Nori were stood on the edge of camp with a pack of supplies each. There had been arguments about that too, Nori insisting they must travel light for this to work, and all the other dwarves desperately trying to sneak clothes and cakes into Bilbo’s pack. It was only when Dwalin pointed out they needed storage space ‘for the king’s medicine, you nincompoops!’ that they stopped. As it was Bilbo had Sting strapped to his hip, his mithril shirt under his surcoat and his ring secreted in a pocket. His pack contained dried meats and fish, water, spare bandages and a pot of Óin’s ointment for his head.

Balin had banned them all from coming to say their goodbyes at once, as it would draw too much attention. Instead, he had them spreading the rumour that they were going on a spying mission south to Dol Goldur. Bilbo was sure that through Dori and Bofur alone, most of the camp would know some variation upon that by sundown.

Balin and Ori had come to see them off, as their duties could be reasonably used as an excuse. To Bilbo’s surprise, they were accompanied by Dain. He’d only seen the dwarf before from a distance on the battlefield: in person he seemed still as gruff and imposing, but simultaneously quite amenable. There was some Hamwise Gamgee in him somewhere, Bilbo was sure of it.

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” Ori seemed distraught, “you’ll be needing a scarf soon, and I’ve not been able to knit you one.”

“There, there, Ori.” Nori put his arm around his brother in a rare display of affection. “I’ll be sure to look after him, you got that?”

“A word in your ear, Mister Baggins.” Dain rumbled, and at Balin’s nod Bilbo followed him slightly away from the other three dwarves.

“What can I do for you, um…” Bilbo hesitated, not sure how to address the dwarf. Of course, Thorin was a king too, but Thorin was just Thorin. He’d never needed any titles.

“Now, now, there’s no need to beat around the bush with pleasantries.” Dain shook his head, laughing. “I just wanted to wish you luck on this. And I hope to Mahal that you know what you’re doing. Balin has reassured me that you do, but I just wanted to hear it for myself.”

“I will do everything I can.” Bilbo said, surprising himself at how much he meant it.

“Glad to hear it, laddie.” The king sighed, rubbing his beard. “Thorin’s my cousin, and despite the rumours going around I’d very much like him to wake up. One kingdom’s more than enough for this dwarf.”

“Wait, people are trying to overthrow Thorin?”

Dain hooted with laughter at the horror in Bilbo’s voice. “I’m afraid so. Sorry, Mister Baggins, you’ve got much worse than dragons to worry about now. This is politics.”

* * *

 That night, Bilbo and Nori finally came to a stop at the northern shores of the lake. They’d skirted Dale, staying off the road as best they could. Nori admitted it was mostly out of habit, but the stares of men were just undesirable as those of dwarves. The road was crowded with people going to and fro anyway, so Bilbo was glad to avoid it lest he get trampled.

Bilbo had been surprised about the progress that was already taking place. Fields were being marked out and makeshift structures constructed. Groups of dwarves, hauling stone and supplies, plodded up and down the road. Most intriguingly, there were one or two small groups of dwarves all wearing headscarves, their clothes in brighter shades than everyone else’s.

“One of the southern tribes.” Nori commented, when Bilbo asked. “Pretty nice folks actually, even if they don’t wear their braids the same. They’re not the ones stirring up trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“But I though dwarves wore braids.” Bilbo said, feeling slightly confused.

“Yeah, and we wear braids to keep our hair out of the way when crafting. Or that was the original idea.” Nori shrugged. “They obviously decided they like scarves better. Maybe their hair doesn’t braid as well, or whatever.”

“So what are they doing in Erebor then?”

“Ah, Bilbo, there’s always going to be dwarves like me.”

“Troublemakers?” “I was going to say ones who like travelling.” He snickered. “Not every dwarf is content to sit around in their mountain. Besides, those guys are expert gem cutters: some of their rubies... Best I’ve ever nicked - I mean seen. They’ll travel where they can make money plying their trade.”

Bilbo had shook his head at that, but let the dwarf lead on. Despite his flexibility with rules regarding ownership of valuables and tendency to get in bar fights, Nori had pretty decent morals.

They’d lit a campfire, after a small debate. But, this close to Erebor, no-one was going to pay any heed to one extra flicker on the mountainside and they wouldn’t have this luxury for much longer. Bilbo had discovered one remaining honey cake which had obviously survived the no-treats ban, and they split it between them, along with a handful of their other supplies.

It was actually nice, bedded down on the ground under a pile of furs, his coat and Sting laid out beside him. He was closer to the fire than he’d ever been able to get on the quest itself, and the low flickering flame lulled him softly to sleep.

When Nori woke him, in the very early hours of the morning, Bilbo was well-rested and cheerful. Nori had kept the fire banked, so the hobbit sat with Sting across his knees and warmed himself, keeping an eye on the sleepy landscape. This close to the mountain, orcs were no danger, it was only their supplies being stolen that was the problem. Relaxing, Bilbo sat and watched the sky gradually lighten, the constellations dimming as the sky reddened.

It was much easier to break camp with just the two of them, and not needing to cover their tracks from any following orcs was a boon as well. Breakfast was simple, and they washed themselves with water warmed over the fire. Nori helped Bilbo change his bandages, his hands deft and practised.

“I didn’t know you knew anything about healing, Nori.” Bilbo commented as he held back his curls for the dwarf.

“You can only get the crap kicked out of you in so many bar fights before you start picking things up.” The dwarf smiled.

“I thought you always won bar fights.”

“Well we all had to start somewhere. There are very few dwarves who’ve not been involved in such a fight, anyhow. Two of them being my brothers.”

“Does Ori even know that such bars exist?” Bilbo laughed at the thought of the youngest company member sat sipping at a shandy in a rough establishment.

“He’s a bright lad, he’ll have worked it out. And Dori knows all about them, mainly from the times he’s had to drag me out by the scruff of my neck.” Nori shrugged. “I seem to remember the princes trying to bribe Ori into a bar once, with an old map they found. Probably would have succeeded if Dori hadn’t found out and lost it.”

Strangely, the mention of Fíli and Kíli didn’t make Bilbo’s chest tighten as much as it normally did. Now that he was on the road, making himself useful and doing something to help, he was finally able to unwind slightly. He could actually appreciate the funny side of Nori’s story, rather than falling back into his dark hole.

“Did Dori have kittens?”

“Yes. As did Thorin and the boys’ mother. Me and Glóin had a wager on how long it’d take until the boys managed to sneak out. In the end it was almost a month before they were getting into trouble again. That reminds me, Glóin still owes me an ale.”

It was nearly a day’s worth of travelling before they’d reach the edge of the forest properly, and stand a change at finding an elf to follow. They took it at a leisurely pace, regaling each other with tales of childhood mischief. Nori certainly had a lot to tell, but even he’d been impressed at the story of when Bilbo and his cousins had stolen an entire buffet table five minutes before a party started.

“Here, why didn’t you say you were food pincher extraordinaire before? We could’ve done with those skills when they served up that rubbish in Rivendell.”

“That was pretty good fare! Honestly, I do not understand this disagreement between dwarves and vegetables. Is it another centuries long feud I don’t know about?”

“Yes.” Nori sniggered. “You see, when the elves scorned us, so did their vegetable-y companions. And from that day forth we swore not to let their kind grace our dining tables again.”

Bilbo had to smother his hoots of laughter with his coat sleeve: they were far too close to the forest now to risk making too much noise. From then on, they dropped their voices to whispers, starting to concentrate on the job ahead. It was strange, Bilbo considered, that Nori the master criminal was following his lead. Bilbo had only burgled a couple of times, yet they were sharing the responsibility like it was the most natural thing. Sighing to himself, Bilbo realised that when the day came, he’d be sad to retire from burgling.

They holed up in a tangle of roots next to one of the largest trees, chewing on dried meat and listening for light elven footsteps. Bilbo was rather put out that he wasn’t able to smoke, as it was a rather nice late afternoon that was just asking for a pipe and a book. As the day wore on Nori seethed quietly next to him, twiddling with his knives, and knotting and untying coloured bits of string at great speed.

Bilbo guessed that it was two hours before sundown when a thin figure passed them, muttering in sindarin under their breath and paying the dwarf and the halfling no heed. Shouldering his pack, Nori darted out of the hiding place at full speed, disappearing off into the woods. Bilbo took a little longer, brushing himself down before slipping on his ring. He hoped they’d reach Thranduil’s palace before dark, as he didn’t fancy facing Mirkwood at nighttime again.

Entering the murky world of his ring, he tiptoed after the cloaked figure at what was a gentle jog for the hobbit. The elf was striding along angrily, their long legs marching quickly along the forest floor. Bilbo stayed as quiet as he was able, keeping an eye out for Nori, who’d all but disappeared through his own mean. Listening to the sound of birdsong, he followed the stream of angry sindarin deeper into the forest.

The place didn’t hold many happy memories for him. The flickers in the corner of his vision looked too much like giant spiders and he kept jumping at the sound of twigs snapping. Why he’d even volunteered for this in the first place was becoming more and more of a mystery.

The elf came to a sudden stop in a clearing, taking on what Bilbo recognised as an elven fighting stance. Trying to stop his hands from shaking, he edged towards the elf, hoping that their skills would protect him from any insurgencies of giant spiders.

Before Bilbo could get very close to them, the cloaked figure dived sideways across the clearing, a knife appearing in their hand. Drawing Sting, Bilbo chose to hang back in the clearing, leaving the experts to deal with the spiders. His heartbeat was so loud he could barely hear the scuffle in the bushes, his normally sharp ears unable to pick out the quiet movements of the elves. Worrying at his lip, gripping his sword tightly, he danced from foot to foot as he waited.

“Now tell me, dwarf,” an angry female voice roared, “why are you following me? And if you do not speak I shall have your tongue!”

Bilbo swore under his breath, leaping forwards towards the shout. He’d been so caught up in the past that he’d completely forgotten about Nori. He cleared the bushes in a stumbling leap, Sting swinging wildly as he tried to catch his balance.

At the sound of a dwarven bellow, Bilbo scampered forwards, leaning around a tree to find his friend. Nori and the elf were all over each other, each trying to gain an advantage as they rolled across the forest floor, knife against knife. Nori’s beard was askew, and the elf’s hood was swept back, revealing an increasingly tangled mass of very familiar red hair.

“Stop!” Bilbo yelled taking off his ring, his voice high. “Nori, Tauriel, for goodness’ sakes stop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul used:  
> Barashî - elements of the wound
> 
> So I decided it would be interesting if Bilbo decided against giving up burgling so soon, and discovered I really like writing Nori. And elves.
> 
> DWARVES WITH HEADSCARVES ARE NOW A THING. That is all.


	4. Dealings with Elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we get hover-over Sindarin translations. Again, I apologise for what is likely awful grammar!
> 
> We have now reached the start of what I like to call Operation: Redeem Tauriel. Because come on: badass female elf with a thing for archer princes - that's a cool character! It's just a shame she was such a wet blanket in the third film.
> 
> My tumblr is [akathofalltrades](akathofalltrades.tumblr.com). Hi to all the people who have followed me so far, I'm not very good at talking to people on tumblr but it is appreciated :)
> 
> And thank you to everyone who's commented, bookmarked or left kudos, it really makes me happy ^_^

Bilbo realised too late that he’d failed to account for many things when he dived in to stop the elf. Firstly, her angry strength. Second, the fact that she and Bilbo had never actually met in person: the hobbit only knew her from Kíli’s stories and glimpses across the battlefield. Thirdly, that she might not be alone.

He and Nori were sat against a tree with their wrists bound tightly behind them, silenced by makeshift gags. Nori was grumbling furiously in muffled Khuzdul, and Bilbo didn’t need to speak the language to know that the dwarf was spouting some very inventive curses indeed. Across the clearing from them, the two elves huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.

Bilbo wished he had his hands free to massage the blossoming bruise on his right hand side, where he’d been tackled to the floor, dropping Sting with embarrassing speed. His bandages had been sent askew by the elf he now recognised as Thranduil’s son, who’d obviously expected a little more fight from the hobbit.

Some decision appeared to be reached and the two elves stood up and walked towards their captives. Nori squirmed and yelled even louder, but neither elf paid the frustrated thief any heed. Tauriel sat down in front of Bilbo and, after looking to Legolas for confirmation, removed his gag.

“How is you know my name, _perian_?” the elf asked.

Bilbo spent a second stretching his jaw, before replying. “Please forgive me, _laegrim_ , we meant you no harm.” Ignoring the stunned look on their faces at his use of Sindarin he continued. “Myself and my companion here are of the company of Thorin Oakenshield: you met some of our companions in Laketown. I am familiar with your names from stories they told of you and your involvement in the battle.”

Tauriel seemed to accept this, wheras Legolas seemed furious. “Why should we trust you? You are the one sneaking around in our forest, after all.”

“ _Garsîdh_ , Legolas.” Tauriel snapped. “What is your name?”

“Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.” Bilbo contented him with a dip of his head in the place of a bow.

“And what is it that brings you to our forest, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?” Tauriel’s voice was gentle, tender almost.

“That is a rather sensitive matter.” Bilbo wet his lips and glanced at the glowering elf prince.

“We shall hear it, _perian_ , regardless.”

“It is a matter of the dwarven camp, and the relations between them and yourselves.” Bilbo started, trying to skirt as many details as possible. “The camp, and the men of Dale also, are running dangerously low on medicine. We have appealed to your king for help and heard nothing back, and time is short for many sick.”

“And you were in the forest because…?”

“We wished to go to the elven king’s palace directly. We were following you in order to not get lost, though keeping hidden as we recognise that relations are not presently at their best.” Bilbo was quite proud of himself now. Not quite the riddles he’d exchanged with the dragon, but close enough.

“The king is not taking visitors right now.” Legolas said shortly. “You should return to your mountain.”

“The winter sets in. These medicines will be critical soon enough!” Bilbo objected.

Tauriel sighed. “The king will not have any trade until he is able to meet with King Bard and King Thorin and discuss the terms of the truce. At the moment you’re just making demands from our people when no promise has been made.”

Trying to hide his shock, Bilbo looked sideways and made eye contact with Nori, who was obviously thinking the same thing as him. That would explain the elves’ silence. The problem now being the fact that Thranduil wasn’t going to see Thorin until he’d sent the medicine, and if he was holding onto that until a meeting had been held…

Bilbo groaned inwardly: blasted dwarves and their blasted secrecy! Why couldn’t they just tell the elves that Thorin was injured? Sadly, there was probably reason behind that too. If the political situation was as volatile as Balin made it sound, the last thing Erebor needed was elves barging into the scene as well.

“What is it you are not saying?” The she-elf asked, sensing Bilbo’s concern.

“Everything, I’d wager.” Legolas snapped, stalking away across the clearing. “He is in league with the _naugrim_ , for Eru’s sake!”

“ _Baw_ , Legolas! Do not let your feelings towards your _adar_ influence you in these matters.” Tauriel was on her feet now too, marching after Legolas, their captives obviously forgotten.

Bilbo took advantage of their distraction to have a silent conversation with Nori. Well, broadly speaking it was a conversation, though in reality it was more just some wild gesticulating with their eyebrows, in which they established that they were both worried and had no idea what to do next.

The elves were back to their muttered arguments in Sindarin, heads bent close together, and this time Bilbo took the care to watch them more closely. All his successful burgles thus far had been far more based off his invisible ring and his smart mouth rather than any actual skill, so he may as well try to learn something about their hosts. Tauriel seemed flustered, mainly on behalf of her companion who seemed to be masking a great turmoil of emotions under his cold exterior.

Finally, the argument reached it’s peak and Legolas disappeared into the forest, his hands hovering over his knives, obviously in case of any more dwarves lurking in the bushes. Tauriel sighed and walked back over to her prisoners, depositing herself on the ground in front of Bilbo.

Clearing his throat, Bilbo hesitated a moment before asking, “What’s wrong with Legolas?”

Raising her eyebrows at him, Tauriel seemed to have a short inner debate before answering. “He had an argument with his father. Neither is talking to the other, or almost anyone else for that matter. He won’t tell me what the fight was about though… Which reminds me: you had something to tell me, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo looked at Nori again, who simply shrugged, before turning back to Tauriel. “It’s about why we need the medicine…”

“Oh?”

“Yes…” Bilbo stalled for a moment more, before all of a sudden it was all pouring out of him. “It’s Thorin. And Fíli and Kíli. They were all wounded in the battle - badly. I mean, I was hurt too, and I slept for four days, but that’s because hobbits aren’t as hardy as dwarves. But they’re still asleep. And they’re so pale and quiet, like they’re close to death. And Óin can’t do anything more for them, let alone the scores of other injured dwarves around camp. We need this medicine, Tauriel.”

“Kíli…” She breathed, barely loud enough for Bilbo to hear, before addressing him directly. “You weren’t going to ask Thranduil for the medicine, were you? You’re not exactly diplomats, _perian_.”

“No.” Bilbo admitted sheepishly.

Tauriel sat back, looking satisfied, her eyes touched with amusement. Next to him, Nori shifted uneasily, trusting the elf’s spreading grin even less than Bilbo did.

“This list.” Tauriel pulled the piece of paper from the pile of their things on the floor. “These are the medicines your healers require?”

“Yes?”

She examined it closely, her expression still unreadable. “These are very basic medicines, Mister Baggins. Your camp is truly this low on supplies?”

“Yes.” Bilbo hung his head. “We are almost out of everything. We had no pretences on getting any of your more complex medicines, as we know that you need medicines for your wounded as well.”

The elf stood, her abrupt movement making Bilbo jump. She spun around, her hair flowing out behind her and hurried from the clearing. Her movements were as graceful as any other elf’s, but with a slight staccato catlike element, as if she were a spring about to unwind at any moment. Next to him, Nori huffed in bad-tempered Khuzdul and went back to his fidgeting. In reality, Bilbo knew the dwarf was trying to reach one of his many secreted knives, but apparently Tauriel had dealt with his kind before and removed any blades that might have been of use to him.

Leaving the escape attempts to Nori, Bilbo sat back and tried to analyse his situation. Their mission wasn’t exactly going smoothly, to say the least. He and Nori would have to make an agreement not to ever tell the others what had occurred on their mission. Not that the thief would object: Fíli and Kíli would have a field day if they ever found out the truth.

The princes… Bilbo sighed inwardly, he preferred not being reminded of the reason behind their mission, but no matter what he did Thorin and his nephews always crept into his mind, with far more stealth than their real counterparts. Sometimes they felt so real, like Bilbo could reach out and touch them, but he never did. Because behind all his yearning to see them okay, was the fear of what had happened between them. The steep drop over the mountain’s walls.

“ _Perian_?” Tauriel interrupted him from his thoughts.

He opened his eyes to see her stood before him, a slightly put-upon looking Legolas hovering just behind her. Tauriel’s eyes were shining slightly, though Bilbo couldn’t be sure if it was just the dim light creating the effect.

“We want to help you, Mister Baggins, if we may.”

* * *

 Bilbo and Tauriel approached the goods entrance of Thranduil’s palace, the smaller entrance busy even at this hour with elves and guards going to and fro on personal missions. Bilbo had his ring on, but the problem now came from not bumping into anyone and staying silent, as even in this crowded area elves had incredible hearing.

The plan had involved leaving Legolas and Nori in the clearing, which turned out to be as far from the guard’s patrols as it could be. Neither of them had been happy with this arrangement, but, as Tauriel had pointed out, she was the only one who wouldn’t arouse suspicion when accessing the medical supplies and Bilbo had “invisible hobbit magic” (Nori’s words). Tauriel and Legolas didn’t seem convinced by Bilbo’s magic powers, but he’d waved it off and assured her he’d be following closely.

She stopped to chat with a couple of the elves, who were hanging around the gate in the way that only off-duty guards can. It was strange to Bilbo, hearing Sindarin used so conversationally, whereas he’d only seen as it as a language to be used to tell epic stories and write important histories. He was left to dodge the steady trickle of passing elves, with one or two carts trundling past as he desperately tried to stay within earshot of Tauriel.

Eventually, she waved her friends goodbye and wandered through the gate, just as a cart was passing. Bilbo scurried after her, trying to keep track of her boots under the cart. She wandered into a passageway and Bilbo just about managed to follow her, with slight reluctance. He spent a good deal of time in the deep passages of Mirkwood, stealing food and sleeping fitfully, and he had no desire to re-live that time in his life. He tracked close behind her, determined not to get lost.

* * *

Legolas and Nori sat across the clearing from each other, a small fire the dwarf had lit between them. Legolas had declared he had no need for the warmth of the fire, as he was at one with the forest and it’s seasons, but still huddled close as midnight drew nearer.

“So, you’re a prince then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re quite different to the other princes I know.”

“Well, I’m not a dwarf.”

“I suppose that would explain it.”

* * *

The passages of Mirkwood had always felt cold to Bilbo, in the hazy world of his ring, but when Tauriel stopped to remove her cloak he realised that the palace of Mirkwood was probably actually a comfortable place to live. The corridors were elegant, and so long as you didn’t have a fear of heights, the main halls were impressive but not imposing. The architecture was starkly different, yet Bilbo was still reminded of the majesty of Erebor. He wasn’t sure who’d be more annoyed by that comparison: the elves or the dwarves.

Tauriel stopped regularly to greet passers-by, partly for Bilbo’s benefit, but more because a lot of elves wanted to speak with her. It seemed to Bilbo that the elf warrior was much more well-known and well-liked than he’d expected. Though of course, he reminded himself, impressions formed on a battlefield were never going to be correct.

Eventually she stopped by the entranceway to a room, gave a tiny signal to Bilbo to wait, then darted inside. Bilbo tentatively glanced around the doorway to find Tauriel stood in front of a dark-haired elf. Her stance was all wrong, suddenly soft, innocent and, if Bilbo didn’t know better, flirty. They spoke in low tones for awhile, her laugh seeming much more ready than normal, though to Bilbo’s ears it sounded slightly forced at times. The conversation seemed to go on for much longer than it actually did, and the male elf handed Tauriel a bunch of keys before seeing her to the door. She bowed to him and set off, though Bilbo was aware of his gaze on her for a long time, eyes narrowing in suspicion when Bilbo began to follow her.

* * *

 Nori returned from fetching sticks around the edge of the clearing, not daring to stray too far from the light of the fire but glad of something to do. He began to pile them neatly, setting a few into the flames and poking at it with his foot.

“Fíli and Kíli are much younger than you, I suppose.”

“They are.”

“…How old are you anyway?”

* * *

 Tauriel’s stride was purposeful now, and she stopped less and less often. She lead Bilbo deeper into the palace, passing the kitchen and heading towards the stores. Finally they reached a plain wooden door which Tauriel unlocked and held open for Bilbo. Glad to be able to take his ring off, Bilbo darted inside and reappeared, blinking as all his senses re-adjusted.

“You do truly turn invisible, Mister Baggins.” Tauriel commented dryly.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “Hobbit magic at it’s best.”

“It is greatly appreciated, let me assure you. Now quickly, help me to gather the herbs you require. I risked a good deal to get us in here, and I do not know how much time we have.”

“The dark-haired elf?” Bilbo enquired, regarding the racks upon racks of herbs with wide eyes. The room was filled with every plant imaginable, some dried, some suspended in glass jars filled with liquid. He had no idea where to start.

“Indeed.” Tauriel replied. “He is never far from the wine, and flattery from a female elf can buy a good deal of him. Elves are not a sexual race, as a rule, but he is a narcissist who believes himself to be attractive to all unmarried elves.” She pulled the list from her jacket and took two baskets from a high shelf. “Now help me by reading out what we need, Mister Baggins. And do not doubt my negotiation techniques in future.”

* * *

“Can I have my knives back yet?”

“No.”

“Please? I know a pretty neat trick.”

“I’m sure you do, but my answer remains the same. No.”

* * *

I didn’t take Bilbo and Tauriel very long to fill both of their baskets, with Tauriel adding in as many extra handfuls of herbs as she could. Initially Bilbo had objected to her generosity, but she had shushed him, insisting that if this were to come down on her head then she wanted it to do so for good reasons.

“Besides,” she’d said, as yet another jar was squeezed into the basket, “I don’t want elves to lose their reputation as generous just on behalf of our king.”

“It may be a while before the dwarves discover who it was who saved them. And I don’t know how pleased they’ll be about it.” Bilbo had retorted, earning a quiet snort of amusement from the elf.

“There. All done.” She looked to Bilbo, slight guilt touching her eyes. “ _Perian_ , my apologies, I said I just needed a hangover cure for some of my companions, so a full basket will arise suspicion. You will have to carry both baskets yourself until we are free of the palace.”

“No, no, that’s okay.” Bilbo waved his hands. “I know the bandages make it seem that way, but I’m not an invalid. I’ve done my fair share of heavy work this past few months, and besides, it can’t be worse than carting a hobbit-sized picnic across the Shire, can it?”

Tauriel frowned. “But hobbits are small. Surely their picnics would be too?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We can eat as heartily as dwarves when we want too, and will have seven meals a day if we are able.”

“Seven! Now that I cannot believe.” She finished tying cloths in place over the baskets and stood.

The baskets were handed to Bilbo individually, and he was just able to slip his ring on as Tauriel stuffed a final few bunches of herbs into her pockets and opened the door. They’d agreed that Bilbo would go straight outside through the kitchen entrance and Tauriel would go and hand the keys back alone before meeting up with him once more. It was a blessing that the store rooms were so close to the kitchens, as Bilbo was huffing with the weight soon after leaving the stores. trying to breathe normally in the stuffy world of his ring.

Even at this late hour the kitchens were busy, preparing the bread doughs for breakfast the next morning. Bilbo had a very difficult time avoiding hitting all of the elves on the ankles with his baskets, as Tauriel chatted cheerfully with one of the cooks. Something smelt amazing in the ovens, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to stop and peek at what they were making. Instead he made his unsteady way to the door Tauriel had described as the one leading to the outside world again.

By some stroke of luck, everything at this point went to plan. Tauriel convinced her friend to step outside and take a breather with her, the two loaves they’d been kneading sitting neatly in their tins. The two elves grabbed waterskins and made their way past Bilbo, stepping out into the cool night air and positioning themselves on the steps, spreading out elegantly. Tauriel had conveniently forgotten to close the door behind her, so it was simple for Bilbo to scurry out and past them into the fringes of the forest.

Moments later the door was closed by another cook, leaving the two elves to their conversation. Bilbo settled down on the edge of the forest, drawing his cloak around himself in the cool air and resisting the urge to take his ring off quite yet. Instead he drew one of the apples he’d managed to snaffle from the kitchens from the top of one of the baskets and settled down to wait. Master burglar indeed.

* * *

 

“I bet you know some knife tricks too, with those sweet daggers you’ve got there. Here, I thought elves favoured swords.”

“Swords are not very good for hunting, and hunting is the sole reason elves are trained in weaponry.”

“Really? Because you had a pretty well trained army the other day, and they all used swords.”

“My father has different opinions to myself on the matter. I dislike fighting with swords.”

“So you do have some knife tricks up your sleeve then.”

* * *

Bilbo waited nearly an hour on the edge of the forest, huddled next to the baskets of herbs, watching elves to and fro inside the well-lit kitchen. It was quieter in there now, the preparations for the next day obviously completed. Finally, it was deserted completely, the elves who worked there heading to their rooms before those who had to work at dawn began their shifts. Again, Bilbo was sorely tempted to sneak inside and see if he could find some of their recipes, but sat resolutely and watched for Tauriel.

In the end she dropped down from a window above the kitchen, landing like a cat and staying as still as a statue for a moment, checking her surroundings. Confident she was alone, she leapt to her feet and jogged into the forest, stopping when she was far enough inside the tree line to be unseen.

“Bilbo?”

He tugged off his ring and trotted over to her, one basket under each arm. She turned to look at him with a wide smile, immediately relieving him of one of the baskets.

“I apologise for making you wait so long. I hope you were comfortable enough, it is a cold night.”

Bilbo was about to reply when she looked down into the basket and saw the remains of his apple core, holding it up with a grin, as if it were evidence.

“I was hungry.” He objected quietly.

“So I see.” Her clear laugh rang out. “I may start to believe you about the appetites of hobbits sooner rather than later. I didn’t even notice that you’d taken anything, and I had my eye on the apples too.”

“Well, I am technically a burglar.” Bilbo said, feeling an odd sort of pride. “And I’ve been stealing fruit and vegetables since I was a fauntling, after all.”

They walked in a slightly cautious silence back towards the clearing: both staying quiet in order to not be caught, but equally unsure of what to say to break the silence. It was much easier going with one basket each, tiptoeing in the dark over the dry leaves of autumn.

Unaware he’d been holding his breath, Bilbo found himself able to breathe much more easily when the glow of the clearing came into view. The idea of curling up in front of a warm campfire for a few hours was greatly appealing to him, exhausted from his adventure.

“It’s all about deception, see?” Nori’s voice carried to them as they rounded the last few trees.

The clearing came into view and Bilbo saw Nori dive at Legolas, knives glinting. They played off each other for a few strokes, Legolas blocking gracefully with his daggers, before Nori twirled and flipped the elf over. Legolas landed heavily on the floor, Nori’s knives crossed over his throat.

“What in Eru’s name is going on here?” Tauriel shrieked, her own weapons drawn.

“Tauriel.” Legolas smiled up her, as Nori stepped back, brushing himself off. “Master Dwarf here was showing me some tricks for hand-to hand combat with knives.”

“Now, now, I’ve already told you: just Nori is fine.”

Bilbo and Tauriel exchanged an incredulous glance, leaving time for Nori to help Legolas to his feet, handing his daggers back to him.

“How did this start?” Bilbo asked nervously.

“I told him he could only have his knives back if he could best me in combat with them.” Legolas shrugged. “We ended up comparing techniques.”

Nori grinned with satisfaction. “See, he’s got a lovely technique, but it’s far too flowery for the real world. Typical elf really. I was correcting him on the matter.”

“You know what?” Bilbo broke in before Tauriel could start. “I am far too tired to care. Pass me my pack, I’m going to sleep.”

“Good idea, Bilbo.” Tauriel said. “I would like to rest also. You two are not to cause any trouble, understand?” She glared at Nori and Legolas, who both looked a little sheepish under her glare.

“I’ll take first watch.” Legolas conceded eventually.

“Ah, cosmic harmony of the forest again.” Nori winked knowingly at the elf, settling down in his own sleeping furs.

Legolas looked at Tauriel, confused. She simply raised her eyebrows at him before settling down close to Bilbo, who closed his eyes contentedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin used:  
> perian - hobbit/halfling  
> laegrim - green elves  
> garsîdh - have peace  
> baw - no!/don’t!  
> naugrim - dwarves
> 
> I'm sorry, but the thought of leaving Legolas and Nori to have awkward conversations was far too hilarious to me to resist.
> 
> So I have this headcannon that the dwarves who weren't raised in high society (the brothers Ri and the Urs) are going to be much more accepting than the others. Nori here, for instance, makes friends with Legolas partly because it makes more sense tactically (because he's a thief, after all), and also because: hey, why not?


	5. Lessons in Smuggling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't forgotten about this story! I've just been a bit bogged down recently, so hopefully this chapter would make up for it.
> 
> Hover over translations are still a thing, by the way!
> 
> My tumblr is [akathofalltrades](akathofalltrades.tumblr.com). Come and say hi and be nerdy with me :) I'll try to post updates there more often.

It was nice, Bilbo reflected, to share camp with the elves, not least because they disappeared shortly after sunrise only to return laden with food for breakfast.

Nori made a growling noise, making Tauriel jump. “Now this is what I like to see. Proper fare and all! There I was thinking that you folks only ate rabbit food.”

Legolas’ brows furrowed. “We do eat rabbits. I fail to see the problem.”

Grabbing a roll, Bilbo did his best to fill the elf in. “He means food that rabbits eat. Salad, basically. Dwarves seem to have some kind of vendetta against vegetables. Fruits less so.”

“And what do hobbits eat, Mister Baggins?” Tauriel asked, before the gleeful looking Nori could embark on a rant. “You mentioned that you have seven meals in a day.”

“Yes, we do. Breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. And unlike dwarves we have no arguments against vegetables. Hobbits are a folk of farmers and gardeners, and we take great pride in eating the fruits of our labours, as it were.” Bilbo grinned proudly at his joke, before adding: “My tomatoes are award winning, I’ll have you know. Several years running.”

Tauriel looked at him appraisingly at this, though Legolas remained concentrating on his breakfast. He seemed quiet this morning, and not the angry silence of the night before, but an introspective sadness. Thankfully, Nori seemed more than willing to uphold more than his fair share of the conversation, the gift of food having won him over. Bilbo chimed in whenever he was able, leaving Tauriel as a bemused spectator and letting Legolas have his space.

The elves had insisted upon accompanying them to the edge of the forest, and Bilbo would’ve believed that it was for their own good, had it not been for the nervous energy Tauriel had been giving out. They’d finished breakfast and packed up their things, kicking the ashes of the fire away (Bilbo left this job to people who wore shoes). The she-elf could barely contain herself, the wound spring inside her tightening as she strode around the edge of the clearing, looking for movement in the distant trees.

The pace was high that morning, especially for Bilbo, who had a foot’s disadvantage to Nori, and more than twice that to the elves. Thankfully the packs were being carried by the others, so the hobbit’s jog wasn’t made any more difficult. The forest passed in a bit of a blur, the colours brighter by day, though still duller than they ought to be: sickly coppers rather than the vibrant hues of the Shire.

The air was cool, frost creeping across the branches, the cold giving the forest and eerie silence. Only Nori’s footprints were audible, and even then only just. Bilbo felt like they could’ve been ghosts, had it not been for the fire he felt in his cheeks as he hurried along.

The easy quiet was broken very suddenly, when Legolas and Tauriel both spun around, their bows appearing in their hands far too quickly to be natural. There was a sound in the treetops above and Bilbo shrank back into the shadow of an oak tree, trying to make out the shape of the arrival.

“Eira!” Nori called cheerfully, waving his arms at the elves. “Put your sticks down, you great loons. This is my bird!”

The black now-clearly-birdlike shape dropped down from the treetops and came to rest on Nori’s arm, shooting what was certainly a disapproving look at the elves. She was a fine bird, black feathers shining like oil and intelligent eyes regarding the assembled party warily.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and take these messages in private. Spymaster and all.” The dwarf grinned smugly. “I won’t be a moment!”

Legolas and Tauriel just watched him retreat, both of them wearing incredulous expressions as they tried to settle on an emotion.

“I didn’t know the raven’s were back.” Tauriel offered eventually.

“Spymaster?” Legolas added, both turning to Bilbo for an explanation.

Bilbo sighed, “Yes, the official burglar and spymaster of Erebor are wandering around your forest. The fact that we were here to steal your medical supplies should have given you a bit of a hint for that one. And the ravens have been coming back since Smaug left. Ori was overjoyed.”

The elves didn’t have time for any more questions as Nori reappeared, looking thoughtful, Eira still glaring at Legolas from his shoulder.

“Anything important?” Bilbo asked nervously, aware that this was the dwarf’s planning face, and while it was better than his plotting face, it wasn’t a good sign.

“Just an update from Bofur.” The thief shrugged. “We might have a little more difficulty getting back into camp than we were expecting. But I’m on it.”

Not trusting him at all, Bilbo let the subject drop and watched as Eira launched herself into the air and turned towards the mountain. If anything, Tauriel and Legolas looked even more confused now than they had a moment ago, their beautiful faces contorted slightly. Ignoring them, Nori set off again, humming under his breath as he marched along.

“ _Naugrim_.” Tauriel muttered under her breath, setting off after him, with Legolas falling in step next to her.

Bilbo cast his eyes to the sky, hoping that whatever deity was watching had at least some common sense, and they'd use it to stop this madness before it got too much for one hobbit.

* * *

Nori called a stop on the edge of the forest. It was almost midday, and at their high speed they’d reached the northernmost point of the forest where it touched the edge of the lake on one side and the plains began spreading up to the mountain on the other.

“You guys break for lunch. I’ve got some business I need to see to up ahead.” He commented, waving at them vaguely.

“What is so important up ahead?” Tauriel demanded, her fuse having shortened considerably since breakfast.

“Tauriel,” Bilbo interjected, looking to Legolas for help, “let him go. And if you don’t mind, I’ve had to jog along behind you all morning and I’m starving. It certainly doesn’t help that we missed both second breakfast and elevenses.”

The red-haired elf spun to look at him, fire dancing in her eyes for a moment before her gaze softened and she sagged visibly. “My apologies perian, it has been a trying morning for us all in many ways. We shall sit and eat.”

Legolas stayed standing as Nori disappeared out across the plains, skirting the edge of the lake and vanishing into the landscape. Tauriel began sorting through the packs, pulling out all manner of things that Bilbo was certain wasn’t in there earlier. With a rather pleased look she handed Bilbo an apple, and he accepted it with a wink, before letting her busy herself with cutting bread.

“I don’t think I will ever understand dwarves.” Legolas sighed as he sat down. “They seem to revel in being contrary.”

“That’s not just dwarves.” Bilbo said between mouthfuls of apple. “All races do that.”

“How so?” Tauriel asked, intrigued.

“So every race has their quirks, I’m not denying that. But no matter who it is, if you tell them not to do something they will usually do it anyway, just to prove you wrong.” Bilbo explained, grabbing a slice of cheese as he did so.

Tauriel laughed uproariously at that, helping herself to some food before Bilbo got it all. “It is strange to me, Mister Baggins, that you are so much more well travelled than myself, and yet so much younger.”

“Well it wasn’t like I ever intended to be. That took a meddling wizard and some tookish impulsive-ness.” Bilbo smiled. It was at this point that Legolas realised that the food was disappearing rapidly, and quickly began to rescue some for himself.

“I should very much like to hear the whole story of your adventure.” Tauriel commented wistfully, picking a berry from the spread and placing it in her mouth. “Kíli told me a little, in the small time we were able to talk though I feel it was slightly embellished. Did you really encounter trolls?” Next to her the blond elf was looking rather sheepish, but Tauriel had obviously elected to ignore him.

“Oh yes, three of them. Huge hulking things they were. We’d have been goners if Gandalf hadn’t reappeared when he did.” Bilbo was moving on the the berries now too, which were colours he didn’t recognise, but wonderfully sweet on the tongue. “Actually, I was thinking of writing a book of my adventures, when I get home of course.”

“And when will that be?” Tauriel asked kindly.

“I-” Bilbo hesitated, unsure, “I think I want to go home soon. Hobbits aren’t very fond of the cold, or mountains, or battlefields.” He gulped, clasping his hands in an attempt to stop them shaking. “But I’m going to wait a little longer, I think.”

Tauriel nodded in understanding, her eyes shining kindly. “We would be glad to have you here, child of the west.” She told him soothingly.

Bilbo reached back to the food, using it as an excuse to end the conversation, but his heart wasn’t really in eating. He was confused, and a little ashamed. He wanted so desperately to get home to the Shire, away from the twice-cursed mountain and yet… Yet he didn’t feel that he could leave the people here. He’d fought orcs, goblins and dragons with these people, and had just broken into an elven kingdom on their behalf. How on earth would he ever be able to say goodbye to them?

* * *

Nori returned an hour or so later, looking equal parts smug and worried. He sidled up to the party, unnaturally camouflaged in the darkened trees, before dropping down beside Bilbo and helping himself to one of the leftover apples.

“So,” said Legolas, evidently unaccustomed to waiting, “I assume you have had time to plan your next steps, and I will be able to return home soon?”

“Patience, master elf.” Nori chided, his mouth full of apple. “Let me rest my legs for a moment.”

Legolas sent a sulky glare at the dwarf, before turning to Tauriel and Bilbo, who were both resolutely ignoring his tantrum. Nori took his time polishing off his apple, his eyes scanning the horizon across the plains as he did so.

“All right,” he began eventually, “now it’s been recommended I don’t tell you this Bilbo, but sod that. We all know Erebor’s political situation is horrendous right about now, and it’s not likely to be getting any better. I’ve had Bofur and my lads with their ears to the ground for the past few days, and there’s some very unsavoury opinions going around, especially in regards to the royals and the Company.” Nori sighed and looked at the hobbit. “And even more-so about you. There’s a lot of dwarves who think that a non-dwarf shouldn’t have even been allowed within sight of the Arkenstone, let alone what really happened.”

Bilbo worried upon his lip. “They don’t like me?”

“They’re _‘abanjabâl_ , the lot of them.” Nori said, reassuring, as Tauriel nodded in agreement. “Either way, we want to be a bit more careful getting back into camp, me and you. But I have a solution!”

“You do?” Legolas sounded unconvinced by the whole matter.

The thief grinned wolfishly at the surrounded group. “I’ve procured us a cart, which will be filled with supplies from Dale. Should be no problem to fit in a hobbit and a couple of picnic baskets. Will speed up the journey too, not having to walk.”

“That does sound inviting.” Bilbo managed, his insides still a knot of nerves at the situation, not concerning himself with how Nori had laid his hands on a cart that quickly.

“Marvellous.” Nori grinned, hitting Bilbo on the arm in the way that dwarves are prone to do. “The cart is just over that rise, if we set off now we’ll be there by nightfall!”

He stood up and helped Bilbo to his feet, grabbing his pack and the baskets once the hobbit was upright. Bilbo shouldered his pack with marginally less enthusiasm and turned to the elves.

“Thank you for all your help. We’re truly grateful.” He told them, and was pleased to see Nori nodding in the corner of his vision.

“We are glad to have helped.” Legolas said slightly stiffly, glancing at Tauriel.

“Yes.” The female elf added, looking distracted.

As goodbyes went, it was rather an awkward one. Bilbo thought about pressing for more, but both the elves seemed to be thinking of other things, so he just bowed low and followed Nori away. He was barely 50 feet away from them, when Tauriel and Legolas broke out in an argument in hushed Sindarin.

“ _Mibilkhagâs_.” Nori muttered, shaking his head.

Bilbo ignored him, not speaking Khuzdhul he didn’t know exactly what the dwarf had said, but he did rather understand the sentiment. Instead, he focused on his feet, watching them pace across the rough turf. He was pulled out of it by the sound of light elven feet and a flash of red hair in his peripheral vision.

“Please,” Tauriel cried, “may I come with you to the mountain?”

* * *

Nori actually seemed quite gleeful about having Tauriel along, and Bilbo suspected this was rather because of how much it would annoy Dwalin. Nori was a prime example of someone who would do something just to prove he could, and his slightly skewed moral compass only served to make matters worse. 

The hobbit and the elf were hidden in the back of the cart, obscured by dark sackcloths. Bilbo was able to stretch out quite luxuriously, and had found a slightly softer package to prop himself up against, whereas Tauriel was hunched over awkwardly thanks to her tall frame. On the front of the cart Nori was happily humming a song Bilbo recognised as being extremely lewd: one of the favourites on the longer days on the road. 

It was rather reassuring to see that Tauriel was even more nervous than he was about the whole matter, but neither of them could say much to comfort each other. Bilbo ended up dozing slightly, lulled by the rocking of the cart and the strange warmth under the tarpaulin. 

He dreamt of a road that went on forever, stretching out towards an unnaturally large moon, and the further he ran down it the further it stretched on. But as he went, his pace slowed from a run, to a jog, to a walk, until he was left stood in the centre of the gravelly track, unsure of what he should do next. 

It was shouting in dwarven and the cart bumping over some rocks that finally caused him to stir. Darkness had fallen while he was asleep, and he could just about make out the tense figure of the elf close to him, her hands hovering over her weapons. She noticed him stirring and leant close to whisper in his ear. 

“We approach the camp now. Nori will give us the signal when it is time to move. He hopes we will be able to stop right next to the royal tent.” 

Bilbo nodded, feeling slightly numb at the possibility of their plan coming to a peak so soon. His nap didn’t feel half as restful any more. 

The lighting around the cart increased gradually, as the camp drew closer and closer, with the sounds of everyday life beginning to become clearer around them. Eventually they pulled to a rickety stop on the edge, where the guard outpost was stationed. Bilbo hoped desperately that Nori knew what he was doing, and the tarpaulin wouldn’t be pulled back suddenly by a guard, but the dwarf had almost certainly done smuggling before. There was the sound of a muffled debate, with Nori pulling out every ounce of charm he had, as well as a handful of coins, and they were through. 

Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, but Tauriel stayed upright and alert. They rattled through much slower now, with Nori calling out greetings to a number of dwarves from his perch. No-one seemed to think it suspicious that the most well-known thief in Erebor (discounting Bilbo, of course), was the one delivering the goods cart from Dale. 

It took an excruciatingly long time before Nori tapped out a signal on the cart, obviously meaning that they were drawing close to the royal tent. Bilbo gathered one of the baskets and Tauriel picked up the other, both creeping towards their exit at the end of the cart. It rattled to a stop, as Nori cheerfully began a conversation with someone, and they both made to jump. 

“You there!” An elderly voice called, and Bilbo and Tauriel froze. “What do you think you’re doing, blocking the street with your cart like this? Right in front of the royal tent too! I would have you know that I am an important dwarf!”

“Is there a problem here?” A voice that could only be Dwalin interrupted, before Nori could say something to get them all in trouble. 

“Not at all.” Nori said smoothly. “I was just about to tell this dwarf that I would move my cart post-haste,” his voice changed to a gleeful wickedness, “but only after I said hello to my boyfriend.” 

Dwalin spluttered at that, and Nori leapt down from the cart, making a quick series of taps as he did so. Bilbo raised his eyes at Tauriel, who simply mouthed ‘distraction’. 

“I have missed you very much these last three days.” Nori’s voice was as smooth as silk and dangerously low. “I just had to come and see you before I made this delivery.” 

The older dwarf was making noises of indignation, Dwalin had fallen into a stunned silence, and all around them an expectant hush had fallen as all the dwarves in the vicinity stopped to watch the spectacle. 

“Did you miss me too, _mamarlûn_?” Nori whispered, his voice carrying through the quiet 

“…Yes.” Dwalin croaked eventually. 

Around them, every dwarf erupted into cheers, and Tauriel and Bilbo took that as their queue to leap from the cart and dive through the tent flap to the royal tent. 

The tent had a strange quality, that muffled all of the chants coming from outside, the lighting still low and slightly eerie. Tauriel let out a little gasp when she saw the slumbering princes, still as pale as when Bilbo saw them last. 

“What the hell is an elf doing in here?” Glóin rumbled. 

Bilbo barely had time to process the question before Bofur was bouncing up to him. “Hello Bilbo, you’re back nice and early. And Miss Tauriel, good to see you again? How’re elf things?” 

“Elf things are good…” Tauriel said hesitantly. 

“This is Tauriel,” Bofur explained, to Glóin, obviously pleased by her answer “she’s helped heal one dwarf prince in the past, so she’s one of the nice ones.” 

Bilbo resisted the urge to groan at that and instead added: “She helped me get the best medicines out of Mirkwood.” 

Glóin appeared unconvinced, but his brother stopped any arguments he was about to make by wandering into the tent. “Tauriel! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Finally, someone who knows a jot about healing!” Óin exclaimed. “And Bilbo, how’s the head?” 

“Fine, thanks. Doing much better.” Bilbo replied, realising Tauriel was rather at sea amongst such a large group of dwarves. 

“Did you bring my medicines?” 

“And more.” Bilbo smiled, proffering his basket, and next to him Tauriel did much the same, but with rather more caution. 

Óin pulled back the blanket covering one of the baskets and grinned up at them. “You, Master Hobbit, are brilliant. And you have my thanks too, Tauriel. Fancy taking a look at the sleeping beauties while I sort through all this?” 

She nodded silently and walked further into the tent, leaning down next to Kíli and brushing his hair away from his face. Bilbo’s chest felt so tight at that moment, that he forced himself to look away from the prone dwarves and at a sympathetic-looking Bofur. Before either of them could make a comment, the tent door was thrown open by a victorious looking Nori, followed in by a resigned Dori and a bright red Dwalin. 

“What did we miss?” Nori announced, his grin practically reaching his eyebrows. 

“No, I get to ask first.” Bofur shook his head. “What the hell was that racket outside?” 

“My brother,” Dori sighed, “decided to snog Master Dwalin here in front of a good 50 dwarves. Because obviously there is no other, more respectable ways, to announce a courtship!” 

“We needed a distraction to get the hobbit and the elf in here.” Nori waved him away. “Dwalin just showed up at the right time.” 

Dori looked across at Tauriel, seeing her for the first time. He raised an eyebrow curiously, while Dwalin tried to make himself look even smaller under Bofur and Glóin’s gazes. This failed rather spectacularly when Balin and Ori barged into the tent behind him and pushed him even closer to their scrutiny. 

“There’s an elf!” Ori squeaked, before anyone could make any more comments. “Is she nice?” 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, hoping the tent wasn’t about to get any more crowded, “her name is Tauriel and she helped us get the medicine.” 

Ori beamed and bowed low at her, as she’d looked up at the sound of her name. “Ori, at your service.” 

Next to him, all of the others realised their lack of manners and introduced themselves similarly: “Glóin”; “Dori”; “Balin”; and finally an uncharacteristically quiet “Dwalin”. She placed her hand on her heart in the formal elvish greeting, then went back to the dwarf prince, her brow furrowing as she touched his forehead. 

“Master Óin.” She called after a short pause, silencing the argument that was already being struck up between the other dwarves. “Something is wrong. Can you pass me some valerian?” 

“Why of course, miss.” Óin complied, handing over the bunch. 

She picked off a strand and dropped it in a bowl of water, placing it on Kíli’s chest, just above his heart. The dwarves crowded closer to watch as she closed her eyes and began a deep chant under her breath, her hands hovering just above the surface of the water. Suddenly an inky black spread across the bowl and she withdrew her hands, hissing between her teeth. 

“I’m going to guess that means ‘not good’?” Bofur suggested, filling the panicked silence. 

“They have been cursed.” Tauriel sat back, massaging her palms. “A sleeping spell, too powerful for me to combat.” 

Dwalin groaned. “What is it with Durin’s line and curses?” 

The others muttered in agreement. “A right pickle this is then.” Balin sighed. 

“Surely all we need to do is break the curse?” Bofur asked, ever pragmatic. “Here, what’s that old story about the sleeping curse?” 

Ori piped up immediately, “The great dwarf princess was placed under a sleeping curse from which she could only be roused if a dwarf of noble heart proved his bravery by passing through the fire for her.” 

“Is that figurative fire or literal fire?” Bilbo asked, pinching the bridge his nose. 

“There’s a lot of discussion about that, actually-” 

“Not now, Ori.” 

“In the elven stories,” Tauriel broke in, surprising everyone, “the sleeping was caused by a bunch of mistletoe that was left hanging too long after the winter solstice, and the curse was broken only when the mistletoe was burnt and spring returned.” 

“Yeah, but that’s not very dwarven though, is it? And it’s not solstice yet.” Glóin muttered. 

“Well in the hobbit tales the princess is woken from her slumber when the prince kisses her.” Bilbo interjected, slightly annoyed. 

There was a pause as everyone absorbed the three different tales, before Ori piped up: “So what do we do if it’s the princes that are asleep? Who has to kiss them then?” 

“They’re all just folk tales anyway.” Dwalin rumbled. “not much use to us.” 

“Gandalf would know what to do.” Ori offered nervously, saddened to have his idea cast aside. 

“That’s a good point,” Bilbo said, “where is Gandalf? I haven’t seen him since-” He broke off, not wanting to say ‘the battle’, but the others got the idea. 

“He said something about having to go see a lady.” Òin shrugged, distracted by sorting through the herbs. 

“I didn’t know Gandalf had a girlfriend.” 

“He doesn’t-“ Tauriel tried to interject. 

“No? Well he’s definitely too old for hookups.” the thief sniggered, elbowing Dwalin conspiratorially. 

“NORI!” 

“He was talking about the Lady Galadriel.” Balin explained resignedly, sharing a long-suffering look with the elf. 

“Lady Galadriel?” Bilbo repeated, awestruck. 

“In Lothlórien.” Tauriel nodded sombrely. “She has great wisdom, and much power.” 

“Well, why don’t we just go there and ask for advice?” Bilbo snapped: this whole curse business was giving him a headache. 

“Here, that’s an idea!” Bofur grinned. 

“Well personally I’ve had enough quests for a lifetime.” Glóin muttered. 

His brother rolled his eyes. “Tauriel, do you think a potion of wormwood would help at all? It’s the strongest treatment for fatigue I’ve got.” 

She nodded and went over to help him, the two of them working efficiently in tandem. “I would be willing to travel with you to see the Lady.” She called over her shoulder. 

“I’ll go too.” Nori grinned. “I’ve never been one for staying still.” 

“Then I’m going as well.” Dwalin insisted almost immediately. 

“No, brother.” Balin struck in. “We want as few people as possible to leave, such that they can go unnoticed. You are needed here, with Thorin.” 

Bilbo’s stomach lurched at the name, but he kept his cool as best he could. “So me, Tauriel, Bofur and Nori?” 

“It makes the most sense.” Balin nodded. 

“Oooh, oooh.” Ori was bouncing up and down on his toes. “You can be called the Company of Bilbo Baggins.” 

“Ori, no.” Bilbo sighed. “That’s a ridiculous name…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin used:  
> naugrim - dwarves
> 
> Khuzdul used:  
> 'abanjabâl - stone brains  
> Mibilkhagâs - elves (impolite)  
> mamarlûn - he who is loved
> 
> Nori’s rules (for life, smuggling, and everything else):  
> 1\. Cunning is the most important trait  
> 2\. Be well dressed  
> 3\. Concealed weaponry  
> 4\. I need it more than they do  
> 5\. Don’t tell Dori  
> 6\. If in doubt: snog your boyfriend
> 
> Also, I'm starting to put together some music mixes for this story, and the first one should hopefully be ready for the next chapter!


End file.
